


written in the stars (that's you and me)

by fackinglouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, I guess???, Journalist Harry, M/M, Psychic Abilities, even though he just writes fluff pieces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fackinglouis/pseuds/fackinglouis
Summary: Louis pushes himself up on one elbow and stretches enough to just barely trace his fingertips over Harry’s jawline. Harry’s eyes drop to track his movements as he does it again. “D’you feel that?” he whispers.To him, it feels like all of the universe’s magic lives just beneath his skin when he touches Harry with intent. It feels like something special. Louis watches Harry’s lips part and wants to touch that too. He almost does, but then Harry shakes his head. “Feel what?”Written for the prompt: Louis is a funny and bratty psychic and Harry is set on proving he's a scam.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 142
Kudos: 1213
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2019





	written in the stars (that's you and me)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my beta sophie (@oceaneyes on tumblr), you deserve a gold medal for sifting through this mess. And thank you to the mods at the BLFF for being so supportive, encouraging, and understanding throughout this whole process. I appreciate all of you so much. 
> 
> To the original prompter, whoever you are, I hope this makes you happy.

Louis opens the shop an hour and thirty-six minutes late on Saturday, November the second.

He would’ve been only an hour and thirteen minutes late, but he spent too long looking at Instagram and then he couldn’t find the right pair of socks for the day. By the time he makes his way down the stairs, warm mug of tea in hand and feet cozy in his thickest socks, Zayn’s already let himself in. 

“Hello sunshine,” Louis greets, smiling at the sour look on his face. 

“If you’re going to open late every day, you should just change your hours,” Zayn tells him.

“I don’t _actually_ have hours, you know. So I can’t _technically_ be late,” Louis harrumphs, lips pursed. 

Zayn doesn’t actually say anything to that, but when Louis looks over at him, he’s staring pointedly at the cracking-with-age gold lettering on the door. 

_OPEN WEDNESDAY-SATURDAY _

_10am-7pm_

_SUNDAY-TUESDAY_

_BY APPOINTMENT ONLY_

Louis narrows his eyes. He should’ve scraped that off years ago. 

“Oh, darling, those aren’t words to live by. They’re more like a suggested goal. See, I have the open sign to tell people when we’re _actually_ open.” With that being said, Louis makes a show of flipping over the hanging sign in the door to show the ‘open’ side. 

Zayn ignores him, typing something on the open laptop in front of him. 

Louis takes a long sip of his tea, watching him, and then says, “Did you see we’re out of-,” 

“Already did the order,” Zayn cuts in before he can finish. “Some people have been working since ten.” 

Louis rolls his eyes at that and walks away, off to the backroom where he can pretend he’s also working. He’s really just going to sit in the big, cushy, ripped armchair in the corner that was left behind by a previous tenant. When Louis first took over, years ago, he had planned to drag it out to the curb for someone else to take. He changed his mind after he sat in it. 

Sometimes items hold traces of things people leave behind— emotions, memories, energy. The chair had been there for nearly a decade and Louis had felt almost drowsy with the number of naps that he knew had been taken there. But he also felt a sort of warmth and love, sitting in that oversized yellow monstrosity. Someone had rocked their newborn to sleep for the first time in that chair and the love they had felt had overflowed and stained the upholstery. 

So Louis kept it. He had yet to take a nap in it that’d been anything less than perfect. Not that he’s planning to take a nap now— of course not. He’s only just started his day and Zayn might actually leave if he does. 

“Go through those books, Louis,” Zayn calls from the front room. Said books sit in a large box across the room from him. Louis snuggles deeper into the chair and pulls a series of faces, giggling to himself after a moment. 

“They’ve been there for two weeks,” Zayn continues.

Louis sighs deeply and pushes himself to the edge of the chair. “And nobody’s died yet,” he bites under his breath, even though he knows Zayn is right. It’s just… Louis hates this part of the job. 

Well, he hates _any_ part of the job that isn’t directly helping someone. People come for advice and answers, for guidance and reassurance. Most of the time Louis’ able to give it to them. Sometimes he sees something that keeps him up at night for a whole week after or feels something that freezes the blood in his veins, but it’s all worth it. It’s a small price to pay to do so much good. 

If it weren’t for Zayn’s nagging, Louis wouldn’t do anything except talk to the people who came through the door. More accurately, if it weren’t for Zayn, the shop wouldn’t function. 

Zayn doesn’t actually have to work here to make a living— he gets by well enough on his art to pay all of his bills and still have some left over. Louis is very proud and very happy for him, but there’s still a part of him that worries Zayn will hand in his key one day and leave Louis alone in this little, old shop. 

Louis doesn’t do too well on his own, so he takes Zayn whenever he can get him. He only works part time, coming in to do the orders for Louis, help schedule appointments, and do any research Louis needs him to do. Most of the time Louis can rely on his feelings and his dreams and the energy in the air around him well enough to help his clients, but he’s still nowhere near as knowledgeable or as masterful at understanding the cues of the universe as Gretchen was. 

Gretchen was the old lady who’d owned the shop before Louis did. He’d stumbled through her front door on one of his loneliest days, back when he still didn’t fully understand why he was so tuned in to the world around him that it felt like he could _taste_ other people’s emotions sometimes, or why he sometimes just knew the answers to questions that others had long since given up on answering. 

Louis had followed his intuition blindly and landed right in Gretchen’s lap. She had taken one look at him and _known_. And that was that. 

She left the store in Louis’ name when she died. 

It’s been years, and Louis hasn’t changed anything. From the layout, to the name of the shop, it’s all the very same. Legally it was all his to do what he pleased, but he still feels Gretchen so much in every corner of this well-loved place. It’ll probably never be fully his. 

Zayn had made Louis’ transition from apprentice to owner so much easier. He’d sort of come with the building just as the armchair had. Zayn didn’t have any psychic abilities or special insight, but he’d worked with Gretchen long before Louis had found them and had learned enough that he was able to answer any odd question Louis might still have about running the shop. 

So, yeah, Louis doesn’t mind that Zayn doesn’t have an actual schedule so much as he has whims that he follows on a day-to-day basis about when he wants to work. He takes what he can get.

There’s a creak from the other room then— the sound of Zayn standing from his stool behind the counter. Louis jumps into motion, diving for the floor and grumbling the whole way. “I’m the boss,” he soothes himself under his breath. 

“What’d you say?” Zayn asks, poking his head through the doorway. 

Louis puts on his best innocently confused pout and shrugs. “Nothing, mate. You might want to get your ears checked.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, unconvinced. He eyes him on the floor for a moment more before returning to the front.

\---

Louis is still on the floor a few hours later, finally sorting through the box of dusty old books that’s nearly as big as him when he hears the chime of the bell above the door. Zayn’s already left for the day, otherwise he’d procrastinate for a few more minutes and let Zayn greet them first. 

“Hello, just a moment!” he calls, hoping his voice carries into the next room. 

He knows it does when he gets a response. “It’s only us,” Niall shouts back. 

_Us_ probably means Niall’s brought Liam along, Louis guesses. Sweet Liam who always gives hugs that are just on the right side of too tight and who is probably going to be a father within the next year. Either that or he’s just going to get another dog. Sometimes the signals get wonky and Louis doesn’t know what to make of what he’s being told. He’s keeping quiet, though, and letting Liam find out the old fashion way, whatever it is. 

Louis grabs hold of the table edge and hauls himself upright to go meet his friends, smiling. 

Unfortunately, the smile is short lived, dropping from his face when he sees who it actually is. Liam’s nowhere to be seen, but Harry Styles is, standing tall and broad shouldered and so arrogant. 

Louis bristles. 

“Ah, Niall, love, hello,” he coos, accepting the offered hug warmly. “So nice to see you, but for future reference, if you want to bring me something, I prefer cookies. Not self-entitled bloggers.”

“Journalist,” Harry corrects, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest. The move, however guarded or frustrated it’s meant to be, only serves to make Louis’ brain a little fuzzy, eyes catching momentarily on the shape of his arms. 

Louis ignores him, facing Niall. “What can I help you with?” he asks, very aware of how clipped his words are coming out. Harry puts him on the defensive, is all. Also, Louis gets especially prickly when it’s his own friends that bring Harry around despite the fact that they all know how poorly they get along. Niall and Harry only know each other in the first place _because_ of Louis! They should’ve never started hanging out without him. 

Niall either doesn’t pick up on his sour attitude or does and just doesn’t care because he breezes right by it. “I’m bringing my brother by next week, Lou, remember?” 

“You came all the way here to remind me about an appointment?” he asks. “Feel like a text would've been more efficient.” 

Niall shrugs. “We were already out. Plus, Harry missed you.” 

The noise Harry makes is equally both choked and affronted. “No,” he denies, dragging out the single syllable. “That’s not what I said.” 

Niall shrugs again and Louis finally looks back to Harry, brow raised. “I didn’t say that,” Harry repeats. He’s got sunglasses in his hair like a headband even though it’s a cloudy afternoon. They’re big and expensive looking and keeping the curls Louis likes to stare at in secret out of Harry’s eyes. 

Louis rolls his eyes and turns to go walk behind the counter. “Don’t have a fit, I know you wouldn’t dare say such a thing,” he says and punctuates it by slamming the appointment book open against the glossy, wooden countertop. It’s all for the dramatics, of course. Zayn keeps a much more updated version of the appointment calendar on his computer so that Louis can look at it on his own phone whenever he wants. 

But Louis can’t very well slam his own phone on the counter, can he? It wouldn’t send the same message. 

Harry looks more upset now than he did when Niall was suggesting he had a single thought about Louis that was something other than _fraud, phony_, or _liar_. Louis swallows a smile— obviously his book slamming worked. 

He drags a finger down an empty page, humming to himself, and then flips through the pages until he spots some actual writing. The last recorded appointment in here is from June, but he’s too committed to the bit to quit now. “When is your brother coming in again exactly, Niall?” he asks, searching for something to write with. 

“Shouldn’t you be able to _see_ that?” Harry asks. There’s no bite in his tone and when Louis looks up, he’s smiling in a way that makes it look like he’s going for a lighthearted joke in an attempt to clear the air. The words sit heavily in Louis’ stomach, though. There’s nothing light about them. 

Louis fixes him with a scathing glare. “Kind of impossible to pick up on anything when your massive fucking ego is smothering the room,” he bites, all but baring his teeth. 

For once, Harry doesn’t have anything to say. He gives Louis a weirdly pained look and turns around wordlessly to browse through the same shelf of books he’s looked through a hundred times before. His visits end up this way so much that it’s a bit of a routine now. He comes, they fight, and then Harry retreats to the bookcase to judge Louis from afar and sulk. 

Once, after a particularly heated exchange, Louis paced over the same spot after Harry had left to see if he could pick up on anything. Frustration and exasperation had been pressed into the creaky hardwood flooring. 

“You two,” Niall sighs, openly amused from where he’s leaning on the counter with his elbow. “Like cats and dogs.” 

Louis’ too worked up to give Niall anything nicer than a grimace, but he does manage to write in Niall’s brother’s appointment without any issue. He even texts a picture of it to Zayn to prove that he’s productive and responsible. 

Niall stays to chat for a bit longer, but Harry keeps a safe distance, tracing his long fingers down the spines of the more interesting looking books. Harry doesn’t speak again until they leave and even then he only gives a small wave with a quick, “Bye, Lou.” 

_that was already on the calendar _Zayn texts back three hours later. 

\---

Once upon a time, about a year ago, Louis met Harry. 

Louis was drawn to him immediately, and not just for the obvious reasons. Obvious reasons being: Harry was really fucking hot and just Louis’ type. Kind smile, taller than him, tattooed. 

Harry smiled and said hello and Louis felt like he knew him already. In the same way he just knew things, Louis knew that there was some sort of destined, cosmic link between them. The universe had written it into the stars that Louis and Harry would share something— an important conversation that would change both their lives forever, a steady friendship, an everlasting love, whatever it was, Louis didn’t know. He just knew there was _something_ there. 

Louis had only felt that same feeling once before and that was when he first stumbled into what was now his shop and met Gretchen and Zayn. Needless to say, he didn’t take such a feeling lightly. 

Harry had shaken his hand, apologized for coming in so close to closing time, and proceeded to ask if there was any way Louis could help recover a long lost family heirloom. Of course Louis had said yes. He probably would’ve agreed to help even if he hadn’t known where to send Harry to find his great-great-grandfather’s ring. 

Louis could’ve just told him to look in the upstair’s hall closet at his mother’s home, but a tall boy was smiling at him and he was feeling silly and giggly and flirty. “_Follow the cat_,” he’d told Harry. Harry had been very adamant that he didn’t even _own_ a cat and that Louis should probably try whatever it is that he does again please because something wasn’t right. But Louis had sent him on his way with that lone instruction, feeling confident that they would see each other again soon. 

When Harry came back a week later, he wanted to know if Louis had actually known about his mother’s cat or if it had just been a coincidence that he’d followed her cat into the closet where it had batted the lost ring under a pile of blankets it liked to sleep on. 

Louis had smiled at him with sparkling eyes and let himself be swept into the promise hanging in the air between them.

Harry visited him every day for a week then— Louis even let him in the shop to chat on the days that were strictly by appointment only. The teas and treats Harry brought him had certainly been perks, but they weren’t the reason Louis ushered him inside from the cold every morning. 

Harry somehow dialed everything to eleven for Louis and muted the world at the same time. Brushing Harry’s hand with his own felt like touching a live wire. Meanwhile, focusing on anything else when Harry was in the same room took an unprecedented effort on Louis’ behalf. It was like Harry was the only clear signal Louis got when he was around, leaving everything else to static. 

And then, Zayn sent him a link to the online version of their small town’s newspaper, specifically to a piece Harry had written. 

In between all of the flirting and getting to know each other, it seemed that Harry had been taking notes. In writing, the jokes Louis liked to make with his customers fell flat and sounded like an attempt to stall on Louis’ part. He’d referenced other popular psychics that had been caught as fakes, highlighting the pain and suffering they caused for the naive people seeking help. Being linked to liars and con artists so blatantly from someone Louis had felt so comfortable being honest with broke his heart. 

Harry had still shown up the next morning, usual teas and muffins in hand, but Louis refused to let him in. He gave him a piece of his mind through the glass door, more than loud enough to be heard clearly. Harry had pleaded to be listened to— sure his explanations would be enough to sway Louis, but Louis would not have it, the wound too fresh. 

There was no separating business from his personal life for Louis, despite what Harry may have thought. For Louis, his personal life was his business. What he did in his little shop defined who he was as a person. And Harry had made it very clear that he didn’t like that. 

That particular betrayal has had months to heal by now, but it’s by no means helped every time Harry scoffs or raises a brow at something Louis says. The worst part of it all is that Harry manages to be unfailingly polite as he tears Louis up inside. Louis sometimes thinks he still wants to be friends— something he steadfastly ignores. He has enough wonderful friends that actually believe in him, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need one around that’s going to make him feel like shit. 

\---

The week creeps along slowly, but the chill of winter rushes in. Louis wakes to frost on the windows the next Sunday. It’s the type of morning that should only be observed from the warmth of his bed, but he’s booked and busy, both socially and professionally. 

Niall’s brother has the first appointment of the day, but before that, they all have plans to meet for brunch. The promise of pancakes that Louis doesn’t have to make himself is the only reason he gets up and ready on time. 

Somehow, he’s still the last person to show up. And of course, because life is fundamentally unfair to Louis, the only empty seat is the one across from Harry. Louis stares at it for three long seconds before resigning himself to his cruel fate. 

He nods happily to all of the greetings from his friends crowded around the table, patting the heads of Zayn, Liam, and Jenny as he passes. He won’t let a silly seating arrangement ruin a meal with so many of his favorite people. 

Louis sits down, cheeks flushed with both the freeze outside and the sudden warmth of the little room their table is squished in, right next to the fireplace. He unwinds the scarf from his neck and then pulls it over his head, uncaring of how it leaves his hair messy and fluffed. “Hello, hello, everybody. Lovely to see you’ve all started without me,” he teases, pointedly looking between their mimosas and coffees, earning laughs and excuses alike.

“You’re always late!” Niall throws his arms up. He’s sitting next to his brother and his brother’s wife, looking like he’s already three mimosas deep. Louis just smiles at him and sticks his tongue out. 

Harry clears his throat then, quietly but firmly, in a way that clearly demands Louis’ attention. Louis looks over briefly and follows Harry’s gaze down to the full cup of tea sitting in front of his own plate. His eyes widen and he knows immediately that Harry was the one to order it for him. 

Louis doesn’t know how Harry knowing his tea order makes him both sad and happy at the same time, but it does. He takes his time blowing on the already cool enough tea and then takes a long sip. He finally meets Harry’s eyes again after he returns the mug to the table. “Thanks.” 

Harry’s gaze is heavy on him for a moment before his eyes fall to his own mug of coffee. “We didn’t order food yet,” he tells him. 

Louis nods. “That’s good.” 

Harry looks up with a tiny smile then, the tension in his shoulders easing visibly. Miraculously, Louis’ do the same on their own accord. He chalks it up to the contentment bleeding into the atmosphere around him from each of his friends. 

“I wish they’d hurry. I’ve had to pee for twenty minutes, but I don’t want to miss them,” Harry admits. 

Louis rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays him. He shoos him with his hand all the same and says, “I think I can handle ordering your omelette if they come around. You can go.” 

Harry’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. Just as he’s about to question it, Louis realizes the problem and lets out a short, angry puff of air. “Just go to the bathroom, Harry.” 

“Was a good guess,” Harry finally says, pulling the napkin from his lap and dropping it on the table so he can stand. 

Louis takes a moment to calm his irritation with another long drink of tea before turning to the rest of the table. They’re in the middle of a spirited debate about which of the two Mamma Mia movies is the better one. 

Louis’ content to sit back and watch, even though he knows the only acceptable answer is the original and he feels offended that Niall’s sister-in-law would suggest otherwise. He laughs when Niall spills some of his drink on his brother in a righteous swing of his arm as he defends the 2008 classic. Louis’ so engrossed that he doesn’t even realize he’s jerking out a hand to catch the empty saucer Zayn elbows off the table a few seconds later until after he does so. 

“Thanks, bro,” Zayn hums appreciatively, composed as ever. Louis’ acts of mystifying heroism have long since lost their splendure with Zayn. “Where’s Harry?” 

“Went to the bathroom,” Louis shrugs. “Thanks, by the way. You couldn't have saved me a seat anywhere else?” 

Liam leans around a smirking Zayn then, looking at Louis with wide eyes. “I saved it for you,” Liam smiles, looking proud that he managed to do such a thing. “Harry said you’d want to sit closest to the fire place since you’re always cold.” 

Louis looks between Zayn and Liam then, open mouthed, searching his brain for something, anything to say to that. Before he comes up with something, Harry settles back down across from him. “Did the waiter come around yet?” 

Louis shakes his head and then, because Liam is still watching him expectantly, smiles warmly. “Thank you, Liam. I’ve never been cozier in my life.” Liam looks appropriately satisfied with the response and turns back to his wife. 

Which leaves Louis to Harry once again. 

Harry, who made sure he had a spot next to the fireplace and ordered his tea perfectly. Louis really wishes Harry would pick a lane and stick to it. Life would be easier if Harry would just either commit to hating Louis and believing he makes a living out of conning trusting people out of their hard-earned money or being sweet enough to be his friend and take care of him in these little, earth-shattering ways. 

The flip-flopping gives Louis a headache on a good day. On a bad day, it drives him into fits of rage which he can only express through Zayn-directed rants (“_he’s so entitled, I mean, really. He thinks he’s charming enough that he can completely shit on me every time we speak and I’d still want to be his friend! I don’t think anybody’s ever told him ‘no’ in his entire fucking life_”) and practical jokes on Liam (last time all he had to do was imply that Liam should keep a safe distance from turtles and he’s been fearfully avoidant ever since). 

“How’ve you been, Louis? I feel like we haven’t had a proper chat in ages,” Jenny asks, thankfully pulling his attention away from the other side of the table. She’s three seats down, sitting on the other side of Zayn and Liam, so Louis makes a big deal of leaning across both of them to hear her better. Zayn grumbles, but rests a light hand over Louis’ hip, while Liam just looks on helplessly. 

“Just fine, love. The cold’s been dreadful, but I don’t go out much anyway so I manage,” Louis tells her. “How’re you, though? Any big changes? Any news?” He asks, glancing down to her belly once, very quickly. 

Jenny laughs and pushes at his shoulder, only succeeding in shoving him further into Liam’s lap. Louis goes willingly— he’s never been one to pass up a cuddle from his friends, no matter how involuntary it may be. “No,” she shakes her head. “No big news to write home about, I’m afraid. Why? Is there something I should know about?” 

Jenny’s looking down at Louis, eyes warm and expectant and _trusting_. And if Louis hadn’t already been thoroughly thawed by the fireplace and their combined auras, he surely would be now. The validation of people that believe him and what he can do is like nothing else. 

Louis grabs her hand and gives it a gentle, affectionate squeeze. As much as he wants to insert himself into the moment his best friends find out they’re going to have a baby, he has enough self control to contain it. “No, nothing to worry about.” 

Liam finally helps lift Louis upright again when the waiter comes around to take their orders. Harry doesn’t order the omelette that Louis knows he wants, just to be contrary and prove him wrong. Fortunately it’s not enough to sour his mood and breakfast passes with flowing conversation and loud laughter, just the way he likes. 

After the bill has been paid, Liam, Jenny, and Zayn head out, after Louis gets a hug from each of course. Louis assumes Niall is just going to tag along to the shop with his brother for his appointment, but he’s not sure why Harry’s sticking around as well, taking his time to walk beside Louis.

They move as a unit from the table to the parking lot, fishing car keys from pockets and bags. Harry’s meticulously unwrapping a stick of gum and Niall’s chattering away to his brother all about Louis and what he’s in store for. “Louis told Liam that he saw him and Jenny getting married... and then they _did_,” Niall says, still in awe despite it having happened years ago now. 

Harry quirks a brow and puts the gum into his mouth. He purses his lips and says, “Don’t you think maybe they got married because Louis told them they would. Self fulfilling prophecy.”

Niall’s too quiet at that for Louis’ liking and he jabs the unlock button on his keys with a little more force than necessary. “Then I’m still right either way, eh?” he bites out. 

He doesn’t care what Harry thinks. Fuck him, really. He knows what he saw, he knows what he felt. When he came back to himself after seeing them standing at the altar, his toes were still tingling with an amount of joy and love and contentment he’s never felt himself before. He was _right_ about Jenny and Liam.

Harry snaps his gum and then _smiles_. 

Louis presses his nails into his palms. “I’ve never seen someone chew so arrogantly,” he announces. It’s cold enough that he can see his words materialize in the air in front of him. “I’ll meet you all at the shop,” he tells Niall, his brother, and his brother’s wife. 

Usually he has to let his car warm up for a couple of minutes before driving, but he peels out of his spot, briefly daydreaming about how satisfying it would be to put a dent into the side of Harry’s very shiny car. 

Niall’s brother is an easy enough client. Like many others, he’s interested in his future and if Louis has any advice for winning the lottery. Louis doesn’t, he tells him, but he does think he should move closer to work so he doesn’t have to take the train for his commute. That’ll save him from a broken arm next month when he’s meant to slip on some ice on the platform. Plus, he’ll end up getting to work early enough that he’ll be promoted within the next year. It’s not the lottery, but it’s all very good.

Niall looks properly chuffed up after Louis walks his brother back from the little, private room he takes clients in. He’s always been Louis’ biggest fan and it’s enough to put him back in the right headspace to deal with the rest of his appointments for the day. “See, what’d I tell you!” Niall cheers, grabbing Louis around the neck and yanking him over so he can ruffle his already messy hair. “He’s a genius.” 

Louis squirms around, trying to escape the hold, and laughs when Niall calls him a “Wiggly motherfucker.” When the squirming doesn’t work, he drops and lets Niall struggle to keep his dead weight from hitting the ground. 

Eventually Niall gives up and lets him fall. Which is fine. His next client won’t be here for another twenty minutes. He can take a nap down here until they show. Except, Niall bends enough to insert his giant head right into Louis’ line of sight. He smiles at him and then, seemingly out of nowhere, says, “You know, Tommo, you should save some of that magic for yourself.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. He hates when people call it magic. There aren’t any spells involved. One time Niall brought him a pointy witch hat to wear for Halloween as a joke. Louis had looked cute in it, obviously. But he threw it away out of principle. It’s a fundamental misunderstanding of what he does and who he is. 

“It’s not magic.”

Niall brushes him off easily, waving a hand. “Yeah, I know, but I’m not wrong. Imagine how many boyfriends you could’ve had by now. You’ve had a hand in everyone’s love lives except your own.” 

Not _everyone_. Probably a couple hundred over the years, Louis thinks realistically. That’s besides the point, though. “It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it _doesn’t_,” Louis stresses. “Why’re you still here anyway? I have other people coming in soon.” 

“Sure,” Niall acquiesces easily enough, slinging an arm back around his brother’s shoulder to guide him from the shop, his brother’s wife trailing after the pair, looking faintly amused. “Think about it though! I could be on to something!” 

Louis lies on the floor for another couple of minutes after they leave, grumbling petulantly to himself. There’s _nothing_ to think about. It _doesn’t_ work like that. He doesn’t get to pick and choose what the universe has for him and so far the only person he thought he’d been romantically linked to was Harry, which…

Yeah, it didn’t work like that. 

\---

“I booked you an appointment today,” Zayn says in lieu of greeting when Louis shuffles in from his trip to the grocery store. He’s too cold to process anything yet, even under his two sweaters, beanie, scarf, and jacket, so he continues up the back stairs to his flat to put everything away. 

When he wanders back down the stairs a couple minutes later, it’s with a frown. “It’s Thursday.”

Zayn doesn’t answer him. He’s busy packing his stuff back into his backpack, getting ready to leave Louis for the night. Louis’ frown deepens. “Zayn, it’s Thursday. I don’t usually take anybody on Thursdays, except walk-ins.” 

Slinging the bag onto one shoulder, Zayn shrugs with the other. “It’s a regular. You know the guy,” is all he offers in explanation. “He just wants you to stop by his place so you can talk and then he’s going to pay you a fuck load. It’s easy money, Louis.” 

Louis has a weird feeling. His chest hurts and for just a fraction of a second, there’s screaming and a thick, cloying fear and—

The bell above the door rings and Louis startles, shaking his head. 

He can feel Zayn’s gaze on the side of his face, curious and intent. But Louis is too preoccupied with the new visitor to care. 

Harry strides through the door, tall and gorgeous in the softest sweater Louis’ ever seen. He’s immediately jealous and plotting six different ways he can steal it from him. Being wrapped up in something as soft as that would probably help his bones to feel like they aren’t completely iced through. Actually, Louis thinks he’d rather just be wrapped up in a hug from Harry while Harry was still wearing the sweater. Or, they could both wear the sweater, together, at the same time…

Louis shakes his head, and grabs his own elbows in a move to hug himself. 

Harry gives an exaggerated shiver as he pulls the door closed behind him, slowing his movements when he takes in the scene in front of him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he jokes, and then more seriously, “Are you both alright?” 

Zayn doesn’t even spare him a glance, still focused on Louis. “What?” he asks Louis, all too familiar with the spacey look on his face. 

Louis glances between Harry and Zayn. “Nothing. I’m fine,” he says to both of them, and then to only Zayn, “Who is it?” 

“It’s on the calendar.”

Louis huffs and his impatience must show in his face because Zayn rolls his eyes and continues. “Giordano Orsolo. Remember him?”

Louis pauses and then screams with his mouth closed, cheeks ballooning around the muffled sound. How could he forget _call me Gio_, Mr. Orsolo. Two years ago he came to Louis as a groom-to-be, just days out from his planned nuptials.

Louis remembers sitting across from him, heartbreak permeating the air, wishing with all of his being that he was wrong. “_Mr. Orsolo_,” Louis had breathed, numb with the grief of others. “_I don’t know how to tell you this_.”

Having to tell someone that their marriage wouldn’t last had left his heart hurting for days. Though, the unsettled feeling that grew with Mr. Orsolo’s nonchalance about the tragic situation stuck around for much longer. The prospect of another consultation with him is enough to bring it all back in a nauseating swirl.

“Am I interrupting something?” Harry sounds uncertain, but steps further into the shop like he doesn’t actually care if he is. Typical Harry— polite enough to ask, but cocky enough to act before he was answered. 

“Always,” Louis nods and then lets his head hang back. “You said he wants me to _stop by_? Since when do I make house calls?” he asks incredulously. There’s nothing he’d rather do less. In fact, he thinks he’ll just cancel altogether. That’s the great thing about being the boss— he can make those sort of decisions if he so chooses.

“Since he said he’d pay triple your rate.” From Zayn’s resolute tone, Louis can tell that he thinks Louis would be ridiculous to pass this up. He’s all matter-of-fact, even though he’s still looking over Louis’ face with a narrow, critical gaze. 

“I don’t care about the money,” Louis throws his arms out. He knows the guy is loaded. It had been pretty obvious when he had paid for his appointment and then, a week later, sent Louis a wedding announcement with another extra payment. As soon as he picked up the bills to count them, he’d heard a young child crying. Even in Louis’ line of unusual work, that’s considered to be over-the-line creepy. Louis had never shoved anything away from him so fast. 

“Louis,” Zayn begins, slowly like he’s about to make a very important point that he needs Louis to understand. “I would never force you to do something you didn’t feel right about. You know that. But this is a lot of money and all he said he wants to do, is talk.” 

Louis lets out a long breath that slowly morphs into a groan. Zayn’s right, but he’ll make him wait a bit before he concedes. Instead, Louis eyes Harry, more than a little exasperated. “Why are you here again?” he asks. 

“Oh!” Harry startles, surprised to have Louis’ attention so suddenly and unexpectedly thrown on him. “Uh, I just wanted to… talk,” he explains, rubbing his hands together in an anxious gesture Louis’ never seen him do before.

“About?” 

Harry takes another step closer, glancing at Zayn. “Well. I was hoping we could discuss it privately,” he admits. Zayn, who a moment ago was packing up to leave, slumps back down into his seat and fixes Harry with a challenging stare. 

Louis hates to admit it, but he’s intrigued. They’ve been alone together a few times since that first week, but it’s never been a situation either of them have actively sought out and usually it’s only filled with awkward silence and that one intense stare Harry has that he only saves for Louis. He can’t imagine what Harry wants to talk about. 

As it is, he pulls the arms of his sweater down over each hand, crosses his arms over his chest, and sighs. “As curious as I am, I can’t right now. Zayn and I have to go to this meeting. Maybe you should try scheduling an appointment.” 

Harry frowns. “Thursdays are for walk ins,” he points out and Louis wants to shake a triumphant fist in Zayn’s face like _see, even he gets it_! But that would mean publicly agreeing with Harry Styles and Louis isn’t there yet. 

“And the matter is a bit more personal than that,” Harry continues after a moment. _Personal_? Louis steps closer and wills the universe to give him a hint on this one. He gets nothing. 

“Not to cut in,” Zayn cuts in, absolutely meaning to cut in. “But Louis, I’m going home. I have deadlines. I can’t go with you tonight, babes.” 

Louis bowls right over that, ignoring it in hopes that if he does so, it won’t actually be true. “What does that mean? Personal, huh?” 

Zayn stands again. “I’ll have my phone on me all night, okay? Call me if anything happens.” 

“You have to come with me,” Louis whines, not ashamed at all at how desperate he's coming across. Zayn doesn’t look affected so Louis changes tactics. “Please, Zayn. I don’t want to go alone. 

“Why don't you want to go alone?” At the opposite end of the spectrum, across from Zayn’s cool apathy, Harry looks concerned. 

“Because I can’t,” Louis snips pettily. It’s all the explanation Harry deserves, frankly. 

“You _can_,” Zayn says. “You just don’t want to.” 

“I can’t,” Louis insists.

Once again, Harry steps closer, looking ready to grab Louis arm and pull him closer. “I can take you,” he offers, though the offer sounds less like a suggestion and more like he’s already made up his mind. When neither Zayn nor Louis respond to that, Harry nods to himself, standing taller. “I’ll take you. You don’t want to go by yourself and I wanted to talk to you anyway. I’m taking you.” 

Zayn looks suspicious for less than two seconds before he salutes them both and heads for the door. Louis gapes after him. Obviously Zayn’s lost all sense of loyalty. 

“Where are we going anyway?” Harry asks Louis, swinging his car keys obnoxiously around his long finger. His sweater slips down his arm with the movement, flaunting the dark ink of the tattoos he has creeping from his wrist down his arm. 

“It’s in the calendar,” Zayn reminds as he pushes through the door, not even bothering to look back. 

Louis smacks his lips together. “You’re driving,” he informs Harry. Harry has one of those fancy cars that start up with the press of a button so it’s warm before you even get in it. It’s Louis’ favorite thing. 

Harry nods, jingling his keys in agreement. “Figured. You should probably grab a warmer jacket. It’s cold out.” 

A part of Louis wants to leave in only his sweaters just to spite him, but it really is cold out and he’s such a baby when it comes to the cold. So, with his nose in the air, he stomps back up the stairs to grab his jacket and beanie again. 

Harry’s waiting for him at the base of the stairs when he gets back down, newly bundled up. “I texted you the address,” Louis tells him, just to have something to say, despite the fact that he knows Harry’s already seen it because Harry is the type of person to have his read notifications on. 

“I saw, thanks,” Harry smiles. He nods his head to the side, in the general direction of the door and leads Louis to his car. He stops to wait for Louis as he turns off the lights and locks the door, even rushing ahead to open the passenger side door for him. Whatever it is that he wants to talk to Louis about, it must be serious to be buttering him up this much. 

It strikes Louis suddenly, while fiddling with the seat heaters, that he’s never been in a car alone with Harry or seen him drive. Unsurprisingly, driving is another mundane task that Harry makes look absolutely, devastatingly attractive. His life this past year has really just been a series of revelations that Harry can make anything look sexy. 

Once he took out Louis’ recycling for him, and Louis had thought about the way his arms looked carrying the bin for weeks after. 

Pathetic longing aside, Louis takes a moment to take stock of the space. He runs his fingers lightly along the door, smiling when he sees a flash of Harry trying and failing to install a carseat in the back row for his nephew. Apparently he laughs, because Harry turns to him at a red light, amused, and asks, “What’s so funny?” 

“How old’s your nephew?” he asks in lieu of an explanation. 

Harry’s face scrunches in confusion. “I don’t have a nephew.” 

Louis sucks in air between his teeth. “Mmm, pretend I didn’t say anything then, yeah?” he tries. “Light’s green by the way.” With perfect timing, the car behind them beeps loudly. 

“Uh,” Harry says after another minute. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Louis holds a hand out. “I’ve heard it all before. We can just skip the whole argument part and go straight to awkward silence.” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Louis says and then gasps, leaning forward in his seat. “Wow, the tables have turned, haven’t they?!” 

A hint of frustration bleeds through Harry’s open demeanor. “If I could take it back, I would,” Harry says resolutely, staring straight ahead to the road, hands wrapped tightly around the wheel, knuckles white. Louis believes that at least. He knows he’s telling the truth. 

But he also knows the sentiment, however nice, doesn’t change anything. 

Harry might want to take back that first article he’d written, admonishing Louis’ work and abilities, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t feel the same way he did when he wrote it— that Louis’ a fake. 

“Is this the personal matter you wanted to talk to me about?” Louis asks and leans back into his seat, turning his head to look out the window. 

“Sort of,” Harry admits, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. 

“You wanted to tell me you feel bad for writing an article about how much of a fake I am even though you still believe it,” Louis clarifies. 

“When you say it like that it sounds bad,” Harry says tinnily. 

Louis _mmm_’s in agreement. 

Eleven minutes later, Harry slows as they approach the house, glancing back and forth between his GPS and the street. It’s the largest on the block by far, with a line of cars parked out front. Harry turns onto the next street to find parking. 

Louis eyes the lit windows and the cars wearily. “I hate parties,” he pouts. Don’t get him wrong, he loves a good bit of fun with his closest friends, but a room full of strangers with a hundred different emotions and wants and auras and futures to sneak their way into Louis’ brain is never his idea of a good time. 

“Do you still want to go?” Harry asks, fingers on the key in the ignition, waiting for the all clear to turn the car off. And even though Harry’s presence is an irritation, it’s also kind of a safety blanket tonight. Louis nods and together they leave the car and cross the front lawn to find the door. 

Louis reaches for the doorbell once he’s close enough, but Harry pulls his hand back by his wrist, shaking his head. “It’s a party,” he explains and opens the front door. “You’ve already been invited.” 

The people milling around the entrance hall point them in the right direction, down the hall in a large sitting room that’s even more crowded. Immediately, Louis tenses. To his great surprise, so does Harry. 

“What’s got you so…,” Louis trails off, trying to find the right word to sum up the feeling bouncing off of Harry’s skin. “Iffy,” is what he settles on. “Isn’t this your scene?”

Harry’s always had an inexplicable ease around crowds that a younger Louis would have been jealous of. He’s too tired and jaded now to harbor any desire for fitting in so flawlessly at parties, but that doesn’t mean he can’t secretly admire Harry’s charm. 

For a few months after Louis declared Harry his number one enemy, he’d tried to convince himself that was why he felt such a pull toward him. Harry just had this magnetizing quality about him that influenced everybody he crossed, Louis told himself. It made sense that Louis had mistaken that for some type of deeper connection— feeling everything so deeply and wholly meant that Harry Style’s wasn’t just a magnet to him, but an entire black hole, ready to suck Louis in as soon as he let his guard down. 

“It’s a school night.” Harry says finally, looking around at the people chatting and drinking and the stereos flooding the house with classical music. “Where are the children?” 

“What children?” 

Harry points to the closest wall. Leaning against the wall on the floor beside the mantle is a portrait of a family. Louis recognizes Giodarno and his wife easily enough, but there are two unfamiliar, unhappy children sitting in front of them. “Why is it on the floor?” Louis wonders, eyeing the empty space above the mantle where the portrait surely is meant to hang. 

“I don’t know. It’s kind of weird though, right? I can see why you didn’t want to come,” Harry says lightly, looking around the rest of the room. “Hey, that’s the guy from the picture.” 

Louis looks up. Harry’s right. Giodarno Orsolo stalks across the room, dark eyes fixed on Louis. “Give me your phone,” Louis demands in a rushed whisper, holding one palm out as he grabs a drink off a nearby tray with the other. Harry, to his credit, doesn’t ask questions and hands it over. He doesn’t want to feel whatever the man’s handshake has to offer. 

“Ah, Mr. Tomlinson,” the man greets, voice loud and commanding. “I’m so glad you could make it. Your partner was adamant on the phone that I must come to you, but as you’ll find, I think it benefits us both that you’ve come to me.” 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek and holds up his two full hands in apology when Giodarno offers his hand to shake. “Mr. Orsolo,” he smiles weakly. “Usually clients like to speak somewhere more private.” 

“_Gio_! How many times have I told you to call me Gio?” Gio insists, turning his offered hand from Louis to Harry. “Who is this you’ve brought with you? Are you who I spoke with on the phone?” 

Louis doesn’t give Harry the chance to respond. “No. You spoke to Zayn on the phone. This is Harry Styles. He’s a friend.” Gio eyes him for a moment longer than Louis likes and he rushes to capture his attention again. “What did you want to meet about?” 

Gio’s smile is entirely too calculating to be genuine. “Perhaps we do need some privacy for that. Shall I give you a tour of the second floor?” he asks, though Louis knows he’s not actually being given a choice in the matter. 

Inwardly, Louis curses Zayn for convincing him to come tonight, but there isn’t any backing out now. “Will you be alright if I go have a look around?” Louis asks Harry. 

Harry doesn’t look alright about it at all, his mouth set in a hard line. “I won’t be long,” Louis promises. 

“I’ll have him back in no time, Mr. Styles,” Gio reassures, though it does nothing to reassure either of them, and offers Louis his arm. 

\---

“Mr. Corsolo,” Louis chokes, “I don’t— what do you want me to do exactly?” 

They’re stood in his home office, a lavish room that doesn’t look like it’s ever seen a stitch of actual work done within its walls. Before Gio had shut the door behind them, Louis had still been able to make out the faint sounds of conversation and music from the party downstairs. Now, all he can hear is his own heartbeat, and the clinking of ice in Gio’s glass as he idly swirls the liquid. 

“I thought it’d be obvious.” 

Louis shakes his head and wishes there was somewhere he could put down the drink he took just to avoid touching the man in front of him. “I don’t talk to the dead. I’m sorry, I’m not that type of psychic.” 

Gio laughs in a way that bares all of his white teeth. Louis’ stomach turns. Three minutes ago he told Louis that his new wife was _dead_. And now he’s laughing with the same nonchalance Louis remembers from the first time they met. It’s all making Louis’ head reel. 

“I told you I have possession of her children now-,”

“Possession?” Louis breathes, nose scrunching with distaste he’s not quick enough to hide. Children aren’t possessions, they’re people. Louis thinks of his own siblings for a second. Then he thinks about the crying child he heard when he held Gio’s money. He closes his eyes. 

“-and there are matters to sort out. Schools and deeds,” he continues, unbothered by Louis’ reaction. “There’s just that pesky detail about the missing will.” 

“You want me to find your wife’s will?” 

“Precisely.” 

Part of Louis wishes he knew where the will in question was so that he could be done with this all and go home and tell Zayn never to answer another one of Mr. Corsolo’s calls again. A larger part of him knows he can’t do that, though. There’s something wrong here, Louis can feel it. If he had paid better attention last time, he probably would’ve been able to help. Maybe he would’ve been able to prevent a death. 

The guilt keeps him rooted in place. 

“I’m not getting anything right now,” Louis admits. He’s not sure if it’s because the universe doesn’t have anything to offer or if it’s because he’s so overwhelmed with his own feelings that nothing else can get through, but whatever it is, he’s got nothing. “Uh, I can— I can sleep on it. I can focus a bit and see if anything comes up.”

“Yes, of course,” Gio nods. “Will it take long, do you think? I’m only thinking of the children of course.” 

“It shouldn’t,” Louis says, keeping his voice as even as he can. “You never know with these things.” He knows he needs a few days to look into everything at least. “I should get back, though. To Harry. He’s probably wondering where I am.” 

Giodarno opens his office door for Louis, wishing him a good night and insisting that he stay at least to enjoy a few more drinks. “_It is a party after all_.” 

Louis walks calmly down the hallway until he turns the corner and then he slams his drink down on the nearest surface and jogs the rest of the way back to the party, feet carrying him knowingly through the sitting room to another. There’s even more people in this one, standing around an indoor pool in which nobody is swimming (and in which nobody is _planning_ on swimming if their cocktail attire is anything to go by). 

Louis doesn’t have to search the crowd for Harry. His eyes know exactly where to find him amongst the milling party goers. Though, Louis knows it wouldn’t be hard to find him even without the extra help. Nobody else in the room shines quite as bright. Shakily, Louis makes his way over, pushing through people slowly. 

Harry, drink in hand, has attracted an adoring crowd to hang on his every word. Louis can’t hear what it is Harry’s saying from so far away, but he’s laughing as he speaks so Louis assumes it’s one of his signature, brilliantly terrible jokes. His fan club titters, looking completely charmed. 

Up close, Harry’s hair looks curlier than it did when Louis left him. It must be the humidity. Having an indoor, heated pool sounds cool on paper, but the smell of chlorine on top of everything else is giving Louis a headache. 

The woman to Harry’s left laughs and touches his arm, leaving it there long after the joke’s landed and forgotten. If Louis had it in him right now, he’d be jealous. 

Louis doesn’t bother announcing his presence to the group, just cuts through like he did the rest of the crowd until he can pull Harry to the side. “Louis! You scared me.” 

Louis takes the drink from Harry’s hand and drops it down on a nearby table. “Are you okay to drive?” he asks, much to Harry’s incredulity. 

“You were gone twenty minutes,” he says. “I didn’t even finish a drink. Are _you_ okay?” 

Louis nods, but it must not do much to appease Harry, because his smile melts away. “What happened?” Harry asks, running a hand from Louis’ elbow to his wrist. He rubs the knob of Louis’ wrist with his thumb, nearly holding his hand, and then drops it. “I was about to come and find you.” 

“You looked like you were having fun,” Louis says mildly, concentrating on the floor. 

“Not really. I was only thinking about you,” Harry tells him sincerely. “What did he want?” 

Louis shrugs. “He needs help finding something.” 

“You should tell him to follow his cat around,” Harry teases, doing his best to add some levity to the situation. “That usually works for you.” 

“His dead wife’s will isn’t in the upstairs hall closet.” 

“That sounds kind of serious, Lou,” Harry says slowly. His face is pinched. Louis can read between the lines. _That sounds like something you should leave to somebody that can actually help_, is what he’s saying. It’s exactly the right thing to push him from uncomfortably upset to pissed at the world. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he fumes. 

“So you know where the will is?” 

“No,” Louis admits, curling his fists when Harry nods, as if to say _see, obviously you wouldn’t know where it is_. “Not _yet_,” Louis amends, but it doesn’t do much to change Harry’s expression. 

“Louis,” Harry starts, still speaking hesitantly as if he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “Maybe you should think about this first.” 

“There’s nothing to think about,” Louis argues. “I have to help him.”

“What if you can’t find it?” Harry asks. 

“Jesus,” Louis snaps. “It’s none of your business, is it? Just drop it and let’s go home.” 

Harry frowns, face hardening. “Yeah, god forbid I try and look out for you. What if you’re getting yourself into something you can’t talk your way out of this time, Louis?” 

Louis stares him down for two more seconds before holding a hand up. “Wait, wait stop, I’m getting something,” he says and holds a couple of fingers up to his temple in an exaggerated impression of a cheap psychic seeing a vision. 

Harry’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You can’t be serious right now.” 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut tighter, wrinkling his nose. He nods and tells Harry, “Within the next ten seconds... you’re going to be very wet... cold ... and uncomfortable.” 

When he opens his eyes again, he pushes Harry backwards into the pool behind him. Louis steps closer to watch Harry flounder angrily and stays just until he breaks the surface, shoving all of his sopping dark hair off of his face. He pulls Harry’s phone from his pocket and leaves it on the side pool where he can see. 

“Fuck off,” Louis tells him and then turns and storms off, feeling satisfied. 

It lasts just long enough for him to reach the car parked on the street. Then the satisfaction gives way to something more familiar: loneliness and frustration. Louis lets out a long breath, staring ahead in an effort to calm himself. Then, he kicks Harry’s tire once, allowing himself a blissful moment of childlike indignation, even if it hurts his foot more than it does Harry’s car. “_Fuck_.” 

“Should’ve seen that coming,” Louis mutters darkly to himself, pulling out his phone to order an Uber. 

\---

Louis sits up in bed, startled awake out of a deep sleep by... nothing. He looks around his bedroom curiously. Nothing’s out of place, his phone isn’t ringing, and the shop underneath him is silent. 

Louis frowns and checks the time. 8:03. He should absolutely still be asleep. He’d only fallen asleep last night after he’d calmed down enough and that wasn’t until well after two in the morning. Then it comes to him. 

Harry. 

Louis throws the blankets back from his lap and scoots out of bed to throw on a large hoodie over his sleep wrinkled shirt. He’s stuffing his feet into a pair of slippers when his phone starts ringing. He doesn’t have to look at the screen to know who it is. 

Louis is tempted to just let it ring and barricade himself in his room. But in the same way that he knew to wake up, he knows that he has to talk to Harry. And he knows that it’ll be a good chat— he’s already smiling, which is actually a bit annoying. Louis would rather dwell in his anger and self-pity a few hours longer, but obviously the universe has other plans.

And who is he but a vehicle of the universe’s wills. 

“Hold on,” Louis answers the phone. “I’m on my way down.” 

“Huh- what? Hello?” Harry says, sounding sheepish. “Lou? Hi, it’s Harry. I’m actually outside.”

Louis stifles a yawn and rolls his eyes. He knows that, duh. “I _know_. That’s why I said I’m coming. Be patient, will you?” 

“Uh,” Harry drawls unsurely. “Oka-.” Louis hangs up. He’ll be at the door in a minute, Harry will survive. 

Maybe Harry’s come with a dry cleaning bill for his fancy sweater that Louis definitely ruined last night. After all the chlorine, it’ll probably never be as soft again. Which was the second biggest tragedy of the night, right behind Louis finding out someone died and left their children in ‘possession’ of the world’s biggest creep. 

Harry doesn’t have any bills when Louis opens the door, but he does have breakfast which he presents with a shy smile. It’s an uncomfortably familiar sight. It reminds Louis of when they had first met and he had let Harry in early every morning, excited over the prospect of sharing pastries. “Good morning. Can we talk?” 

“Tea first,” Louis says, hand out. He takes the cup, smiling at the way it immediately warms his palm against the chill Harry’s letting in from outside. With his free hand, he ushers Harry in and locks the door back up behind him. “Uh, we can chat in there,” he decides, gesturing to the side room he takes clients in. 

Harry nods. “Sure, Lou.” He’s certainly not as mad as Louis expected him to be. Mostly he just seems solemn. Maybe he’s here to formally cut all ties with Louis. 

Louis takes his usual seat and watches Harry sit across from him. The room itself is bare— nothing on the walls and no furniture other than a couple of chairs and a table. It’s meant to help Louis keep his focus on whoever is in the opposite chair. 

When it comes to Harry, Louis’ never needed the extra help. 

“Do you remember when we first met?” Harry starts suddenly. His bag of breakfast sits untouched between them. 

“No, actually,” Louis shrugs. “Turns out I can only see the future. The past for me is hazy at best.” 

“Louis.” Harry puts his folded hands on the table in front of them, then unfolds them to smooth down the old fabric he has thrown over as a tablecloth. Then he folds them again. His green eyes are clear and unwavering on Louis’ face. 

“Fine. Yes, _obviously_ I remember. Happy?” 

“I didn’t— It wasn’t my intention to,” Harry trails off. He rubs his big hands over his face and sighs, breaking off into nervous laughter. It’s the least confident Louis’ ever seen him. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to say this for months and I still don’t know how to.” 

“Don’t you write for a living?” Louis points out impishly. “Words should be your specialty.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees with a mirthless smile. “They usually are. Except with you… I don’t know what it is. With you, it’s like, the words never come out right.” 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek hard and swallows the rest of his bratty comments. 

“When I showed up that day, it wasn’t with some evil plan to write that article. I mean, yeah, I was doing that series reviewing places around town, but I wasn’t… That week, I wasn’t lying to you,” Harry explains. 

“Mmm,” Louis tilts his head, unconvinced. 

“Okay, the first day I lied. Not about the ring, I really did need to find that, but that was just the excuse to come in. After that, though, Louis, I swear to god. I was there for you. I came back every day to talk to you because _I_ wanted to. It wasn’t a ploy to— to write more. And I know that doesn’t change anything. I still wrote it without you knowing. I still _hurt_ you.” 

Louis feels more exposed than he likes to be. He’s a seasoned pro in dealing with other people’s emotions. But Harry’s pulling the curtain back on Louis’ own feelings, shining a spotlight on his hurt. He squirms in his seat, drawing a knee to his chest. 

“That’s not why it doesn’t change things, Harry,” Louis manages, “you feel bad about… hurting my feelings. Because you’re a polite person. Fine. But my feelings aren’t hurt because you lied to me. My feelings were hurt because you thought I was a scam artist and believed it enough to print it for everyone to see.” 

“I thought I was helping people,” Harry says carefully and Louis’ heart pangs. The thing is, Louis’ never believed any differently. Despite having hurt him, Harry’s _so_ clearly a genuinely good person. The whole situation is just complicated-- a good reminder that life is never black and white and humans are never perfect. 

“And what now? You still don’t believe me so what’s changed?” 

“Even if I don’t believe _everything_, I can see that you help. You make people happy. I think that’s worth something. Isn’t that enough?” Harry asks, nearly pleading. “Do I have to believe to want to be friends? Do you need everyone in the world to believe you to be happy?” 

Louis’ tempted to make a Tinkerbell joke, because _yes, obviously_, he’d very much like it if everyone in the world believed him. “No, but-,” 

“You called me a friend yesterday,” Harry reminds him. “When you introduced me to that guy, you said I was your friend.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. At the time, he hadn’t thought he was making as big a declaration as Harry is making it out to be now. “I mean, yeah, but-,” 

“I will be sorry for writing that story for the rest of my life,” Harry tells him, eyes wide in their sincerity. “I think you’re a wonderful person and I’m tired of fighting with you. I’d like to be friends— I _already_ think we’re friends.” 

Louis swallows roughly and lets the silence hang between them. Harry waits patiently for his answer, never looking away from Louis as he pretends to grapple with it all. 

Enemies never did quite fit the vibe Louis got, if he’s being honest. If he’s being completely honest, he already knows what he’s going to do. He knew from the moment he woke up with that damn smile, thinking about Harry. In a way, it’s nice to feel like such a complicated decision is out of his hands. 

Still, Louis isn’t going to let such an opportune moment for dramatics pass. Louis hangs his head back and groans loudly. “I don’t know,” he tells Harry. “I suppose we could call a truce. You owe me tea, though. Lots of it.” 

“Deal,” Harry agrees immediately. “I’ve already started,” he points out, nudging the paper cup of tea back in front of Louis.

When Louis looks back up, a calm settles into his skin, like the universe is saying _this is right, this is good_. Harry’s smiling at him. Louis curls his toes inside his slippers and tentatively smiles back. _This is right, this is good_, he repeats to himself. 

\---

The new normal takes no time at all to adjust to. 

Once again, Louis finds himself with someone other than Zayn to chat to in between customers. Harry drops by at odd hours throughout the week, whenever he’s driving by on his way around town, doing interviews and writing his stories. 

There isn’t even a period of fragile awkwardness while they relearn how to be civil with each other— it’s like they jump together, head first into this new way of existing. Their friends, however, don’t find the change to be such an easy development. 

Zayn spends most of the time that he and Harry are in the shop at the same time brooding and eyeing him over the top of his laptop screen. “_I don’t trust him,_” he says to Louis, who doesn’t blame him at all. Louis probably wouldn’t either if he didn’t have some cosmic reassurance that this was the right path. 

When Louis voluntarily sits next to Harry at the monthly dinner Liam and Jenny host, Niall just about shakes out of his chair and then demands to make a toast: “_To good friends, both old and newly rediscovered_.”

The smile it puts on Harry’s face lasts the entirety of dinner.

Louis’ in the kitchen afterwards, rinsing out his wine glass absentmindedly at the sink when a hand at his shoulder makes him jump. “Jesus, Liam!” he yelps, fingers scrambling to keep their hold of the slippery cup. 

Liam has his hands in the air, placating and apologetic, but he also looks like he’s holding back a laugh. “Sorry, Tommo! I thought you heard me come in.” 

Louis sets the glass down and turns the water off, shaking his hands dry. From his spot in the kitchen, he can’t see where everyone else is still gathered around the table, but he can hear them, all still engrossed in conversation. “Hmm, no, sorry. I was just thinking about something.” 

“Must be something important,” Liam muses good-naturedly. “I never manage to get the jump on you.” 

Louis nods. He’d been thinking about Mr. Orsolo. Last week, Louis had dreamed of those despondent little faces from the portrait. They had come alive within the canvas and begged Louis to let them out. Their painted mother had remained motionless and beautiful, but Giodarno’s likeness had moved only to bare his teeth in a smile. 

He’d woken up terrified and positive that he had to talk to the children. 

When Mr. Orsolo called for an update, Louis had asked about it. “_I think if I could just talk to them_,” he’d tried. Giodarno had shot him down before he could even explain himself, calling Louis unprofessional and ranting about boundaries until he eventually hung up with a curt goodbye. 

“Anything I can help with?” Liam asks after a while. 

Louis leans back against the counter and shrugs. “I have this client who wants to find something and I haven’t been having much luck.” 

“Oh,” Liam nods along in perceived understanding. “I wouldn’t beat yourself up about that. Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.” 

Louis smiles briefly. However useless it may be, he appreciates Liam’s sage wisdom. The intentions are always pure. “Very astute, Li. But I know how to find what he wants. Except when I asked to talk to his step-kids, he got really cagey and weird. He’s always weird, but it was worse, trust me.” 

“That sucks,” Liam says. “You did all you could, though.” 

Louis purses his lips. “_Mmm_.” 

Liam tilts his head, comprehension dawning behind his eyes. “Bro, you know that I always have your back, but talking to children behind their dad’s back when he told you not to is a _bad_ idea.” There’s no room for argument in his tone. Louis tries anyway. 

“What if I told you it was for the greater good?” Louis hedges. 

Liam doesn’t budge. “The greater good is you not having the police called on you, Louis. I’m serious.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Louis says noncommittally. 

“What did Zayn say?” 

Louis toes at the tiled floor. “The same thing,” he admits. 

“It’s good advice,” Liam says firmly. “Now come back to the table and have dessert.” 

Louis lets himself be guided back to the dining room. 

Harry drives him home later that night. The passenger side seat has unofficially, but indefinitely become Louis’. It’s adjusted exactly how he likes it and the seat warmers are turned to just the right setting. He expects that the first time he gets into Harry’s car to find anything changed will be devastating.

When he pulls up right outside of Louis’ front door, neither of them make any attempt to say goodbye. Louis’ found it quite nice not to have to storm out of each other’s presence every time they meet. 

Harry turns down the music, shifting in his seat until he’s facing Louis. Louis mirrors him and lays his head back. “Did you have a nice time tonight?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah,” Louis nods. At least, he did between all the moments he lost himself in thought about the Orsolos. “Did you?” 

Harry nods in return, but lets the silence sit for a few moments, openly watching Louis. 

“You go away sometimes,” Harry says softly, brushing a finger against Louis’ temple just once. Louis has no control over the way his eyes fall closed. “Sometimes I wish I could follow you.” 

“You wouldn’t like it,” Louis murmurs. He listens to the sounds of Harry’s seatbelt pulling as Harry leans closer and the creaking of the center console as he leans an elbow on it. 

“I don't think that’s true. I like the rest of you,” Harry tells him simply. 

_That’s not true_, Louis thinks. He doesn’t say anything to refute it, though. Now that they’re friends, he’s been exercising his self-control a lot more. Still, something must show on his face because Harry thumbs over the crease between his brows. “Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking.” 

“What if I can’t help it?” Louis peeks an eye open to find Harry a lot closer than he thought he was. He’s also staring openly at his mouth, having thought he had free reign to do so with Louis’ eyes closed. 

Harry smiles then, seemingly unashamed to be caught red handed. If anything, he leans closer. “I can help, then. I’ve been told I’m very good at distractions.” 

Louis groans, pushing Harry away with a hand to the side of his face. “Does that line actually work for you?” he squawks. 

Harry goes easily, snatching Louis’ cold hand from his face and holding it between the both of his. “It’s working on you,” he says soft-heartedly. Louis can’t fault him for being right. 

With his hand pressed between Harry’s, the night feels less lonely. The connection is still there— the one he felt the first time they met. It’s always felt a little too tender, like the string tying them together stemmed from his heart. The past year of fighting had rubbed him raw and left him sensitive. Holding hands in the warmth of Harry’s car is helping to soothe those old wounds.

Maybe this is what unrequited love feels like, Louis guesses. He’s still young, still learning how to read the cues the universe gives him. So far he’s tried lovebirds and enemies, and neither of them had stuck. 

With his free hand, Louis pulls the door handle and welcomes a rush of frigid air into their delicate, isolated world. It’s extremely effective at quashing his runaway daydreams of climbing over the center console and into Harry’s lap. “I have to go to bed.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily, though he holds Louis’ hand tighter. 

Louis’ forced to be the one to separate them, as much as he’d like to do the opposite. “Ta-ta,” Louis waves, shivering in the cold. 

Harry waits until he’s unlocked the front door and is safely inside before he returns the wave and pulls away.

\---

The end of November brings even colder and darker nights. Louis looks through the door out into the street in front of the shop. It’s not even eight o’clock yet, but it could easily pass as the witching hour outside. Nobody’s out either. 

Louis shivers and turns the hanging sign in the door to show the _CLOSED_ side. He only makes it back to the counter to grab his phone before the bell above the door rings, signaling a new arrival. 

“Sorry, we’re—,” the _closed_ dies on his lips. Mr. Corsolo is doing his best contrite impression, standing in front of the sign he so clearly disregarded. 

They haven’t spoken since the phone call two days ago. Louis’ spent his time texting Harry, taking clients, and reading every article google had to offer on the life and times of Giodarno Corsolo and his late wife, Amina Ordonez. He’s surprisingly learned a lot, like the fact that Mr. Corsolo married into his money. The big house he’d so proudly given Louis a tour of had been in the Ordonez family for years. It’s only in his sole care now because Amina had passed away from a sudden and completely unexpected heart attack in said home. 

“Mr. Tomlinson! Perfect. I was so worried I wouldn’t catch you in time.” 

“Actually-,” Louis tries, about to point out that he _didn’t_ catch him in time and that Louis would very much like to go upstairs to shower and lay in bed. 

“I was hoping to discuss something with you,” Gio speaks over him, eyeing the phone in Louis’ grasp. “It won’t take long, I assure you. The matter is time sensitive, actually.” 

Louis eyes the time on his lock screen and his texts notifications. He could send an _SOS_ text in four seconds flat and turn Mr. Corsolo away, but then he’d learn nothing. Not to mention, if any other client had shown up a few minutes after closing, Louis would have graciously made time for them. “I have a few minutes,” he settles on eventually. Louis at least moves behind the counter, just to put something in between them. 

“Obliging as always,” Mr. Corsolo smiles, moving slowly through an aisle of different crystals and stones. “You see, the longer the will remains in question, the longer we allow fanciful stories to gain traction. However untrue they are, every day they aren’t proven wrong is another day they’re proven right. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Louis has no fucking clue, to be absolutely honest. 

“Sure, yeah,” Louis nods anyway. 

“It’s in our best interests if we put this to bed sooner rather than later.” Mr. Corsolo continues on, but Louis’ too stuck on the ‘we’ and the ‘our’ of it all to follow. Maybe he’s reading too into it, and being dramatic. Or maybe the sour taste in his mouth is right and he’s being vaguely threatened. 

Mr. Corsolo’s watching Louis, thin brows raised. He’s waiting for a response, Louis realizes with a jolt. “Uh, yeah, yep.” He gives a thumbs up with a steely grin, hoping it’s an appropriate answer to whatever he missed. “It’s been slow going on my end, but I have a couple more things I can try.” 

The promise seems to appease Mr. Corsolo because he rubs his hands together and says, pleasantly, “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Tomlinson. Once again, I applaud your discretion with these matters. It’s always best to keep these things just between us.” 

Louis presses his lips together. It’s another reminder to stay away from the children. From anybody else, the warning would be a suitable parental duty. Coming from Mr. Corsolo, it feels wrong. Still, Louis doesn’t know what else to do other than nod and hope that he leaves. 

Mr. Corsolo grabs a random stone from the shelf closest to him and takes his time examining it. “I do love our little meetings,” he concludes as he tosses the stone back in a different box. “Have a nice night.” 

Louis waits until Gio’s in his car before moving out from behind the counter to go lock the door. He double checks that the lock is secure twice and then goes to find the moonstone he had so carelessly thrown around. Fortunately, it’s easy enough to find— the only white in a box full of green. 

_A familiar face, strained as she demands a signature on a stack of papers Gio unconcernedly bats away. _

Louis drops the stone to the floor. Amina had asked for a divorce before she passed. Thoughts swirling, Louis kicks the stone to the side. He’ll ask Zayn to pick it up when he comes in next. 

It’s on his way up the back stairs that Louis makes up his mind. If he ever figures out where that damn will is, he’ll tell the police instead. They’ll know best how to handle it and Mr. Corsolo will have no reason to be upset if he truly has nothing to hide. 

Louis mentally adds a second item to Zayn’s agenda: 1. pick up the moonstone that Gio contaminated with all of his confusing sliminess, and 2. research and then tell Louis how to send an anonymous tip to the authorities. 

\---

“I’ve never actually been up here,” Harry muses, as if Louis doesn’t already know that and isn’t thinking the same exact thing. It’s super weird, but in a good way, Louis thinks. When Harry first came upstairs, he looked out of place against Louis’ little flat, full of knick knacks and blankets and all the books that Zayn’s deemed too damaged to be put out for sale. Louis’ first impression was that Harry, in his fitted plaid pants and broad shoulders clad in a colorful sweater, had stuck out like a sore thumb. 

It’s only been forty minutes, but Louis’ already changed his mind. He doesn’t match exactly, but he’s a perfect complement. 

Today’s lunch is an attempt to return the favor of the multitude of teas and muffins Harry has brought to Louis since calling a truce. Harry had jumped on the invitation to lunch before Louis could even finish the offer. 

Louis made soup for them from an old family recipe, shrugging off Harry’s praise like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t been up the night before with Zayn doing taste test after taste test until they found the perfect batch. His fridge is currently stocked with three separate containers of failed attempts. He’ll be eating left over, slightly off soup for the next two weeks. 

All worth it, Louis concludes, after Harry takes his first bite and immediately gushes. 

“Um,” Louis interrupts the comfortable silence that had settled as they ate, eyes low on where he’s tearing apart the rest of his bread. “What are you writing about this week?” It’s a simple question, one that Harry probably gets all the time from the rest of his friends about his job. For Louis and Harry, it’s unfamiliar territory that hasn’t been broached in an attempt to keep their tentative friendship stable. 

When Louis glances up to gauge his reaction, he can tell that Harry is as shocked as he is that Louis’ brought up anything to do with the articles he writes. It’s an olive branch and Louis can see that Harry understands the significance of it. 

Harry finishes chewing and says, “I’m working on a piece about local holiday traditions. So far everyone I’ve interviewed has just used it as free advertisement for the events their having, but it’s not too bad. I’ve been offered lots of free hot chocolate.” 

“I’ve got a serious question for you,” Louis points to him, face composed. “Do you wear that silly hat of yours when you interview people?” 

“Silly!?” Harry feigns outrage. “It’s not _silly_!” 

Louis laughs delightedly. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. I can see you now, cap on like you’re a fuckin’ Newsie, drinking your hot chocolate and chatting to old ladies. Your job’s a real dream, isn’t it?” 

“I’m very offended,” Harry says, though his goofy smile contradicts his words. “But yes, it’s great.” 

Once their laughter dies down, Harry clears his throat and carefully returns the favor. “How’s work been for you, then? No more house calls I hope.” 

“You know what, actually, Zayn and I have remodeled our entire business structure. We’re exclusively doing house calls now. I have you to thank for that,” Louis informs him, grinning. 

Harry plays along, smiling, and asks, “And why’s that?” 

“I’ve never felt a rush of power like I did when I threw you into that pool-,” 

“_Threw_?” Harry barks. “You’ve never thrown anything in your life!” 

Louis raises his voice to talk over him, barely containing his laughter. “I’m addicted now, to be honest. It’s all gone to my head.” 

“Do you push someone into an indoor pool at every house call you make?” 

“Of course. It’s the _only_ requirement.” 

Harry shakes his head. “Well, I pity whoever it is you’re ‘_throwing_,’” he pauses to let his exaggerated air quotes linger in the air for another second, “into these pools. My clothes still smell like chlorine.” 

The casual reminder of their fight is sobering and Louis raps his knuckles against the side of the table to expend some nervous energy. “Sorry about that,” he cringes. “I do honestly feel bad. Especially about that sweater, Christ. It looked so soft.” 

Harry knocks their feet together under the table until Louis smiles again. “You’ve already apologized, Louis. Don’t worry about it.” Louis nods and returns to tearing his bread into even smaller pieces, letting the silence sit. 

“You’re not really making more house calls though, right?” Harry asks after another moment. 

“God, no,” Louis says, pulling a face at the thought. “Definitely not doing that again. I’m perfectly happy staying in my little shop.” 

Harry’s eyes are fond. “It suits you.” 

Louis feels his face scrunch in the way it does sometimes when he’s feeling happy and he drops his chin to his chest in an attempt to hide it. “Uh,” he wracks his brain, trying to remember how functioning people continue conversations. “Yeah, that guy was creepy, huh? Count yourself lucky you weren’t here the other night.” 

“What happened the other night?” 

Louis figures it’s okay to look up again— any smile he had is long gone now that he’s thinking of Mr. Corsolo stalking around his shop. “He showed up after close to tell me how it would benefit the both of us to find the will, acting all strange.” 

Harry doesn’t find it nearly as amusing as Louis expected him to. He just looks... angry? “He came over to intimidate you?” 

Louis purses his lips. Sure, he _felt_ intimidated. But the word also makes the situation feel scarier than Louis’ been trying to think about it as. “I guess? I don’t know. He’s just... creepy.”

Harry leans closer, elbows on the table. “I think you should drop him as a client, Lou. Tell Zayn. I have a bad feeling about him.” 

Louis snorts. Join the club, big guy. 

Harry must mistake the snort for disagreement, because he reaches for Louis’ hand and tries again. “I’m serious. Didn’t you say you felt like something was off too? Trust your gut.”

Louis pulls his hand away. “You don’t get to pick and choose when to believe me,” he says, voice softer than he means it to be. 

Harry’s eyes widen. “N-no,” he rushes. “That’s not what I meant. Louis, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. He stirs the dregs of what’s left in his bowl and wracks his brain for anything to say to patch over the slip. “Uh, so… tell me about these parties you’re learning about. Any of them good? Shall we check some out?” 

Harry takes a long moment before he answers, eyeing Louis critically. Whatever it is he wants to say, he thinks better of and follows Louis’ lead to a lighter subject. “No,” he huffs in what’s probably meant to be a laugh. “It’s mostly just holiday bazaars at nursing homes and a couple of light festivals.” 

“Mmm,” Louis nods, smacking his lips in disappointment. “Well, keep your ear to the ground, will you?” 

“You hate parties,” Harry reminds him.

Louis shrugs. He’s not wrong. “Yeah, but maybe there’ll be something cool. I’ve always wanted to go to one of those things where everybody runs into the ocean in the middle of winter.” 

Harry narrows his eyes like he’s trying to figure out if Louis’ being serious or not, scoffing. “Louis… that’s the _worst_ idea you’ve ever had. I’ve literally never met someone who complains as much as you do about being cold.” 

Louis smacks his lips together. Harry is, unfortunately, right again. “Maybe I’d like to watch. I could just be there for solidarity.” 

Harry laughs, giving in with a nod. “Fine. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Happy?” 

“Very.” 

\---

_do you want to grab dinner tonight?_

Louis’ been staring at the same text for over four hours now, feeling no closer to responding now than he did when it first came through. The past week had been weird between them, both so busy with work that they hadn’t been able to find the time to see each other since their lunch in Louis’ little kitchen. 

They’ve exchanged a couple texts here and there, but for the most part, it’s been radio silence. His original plan for the night had been to invite Harry out to drinks and spend the night giggling and falling over each other. That way, when he woke up the next morning, he could blame all of his flirting on the liquor.

Then he had a fight with Zayn and the desire to drink and be merry morphed quickly into one to drink and wallow. All Louis had done was bring Zayn up to speed on everything that had happened so far with Mr. Corsolo— the chilling visions and dreams, the late visit, and the googling. Louis had expected Zayn to be proud of him, both for doing so much research on his own and for raking in so many billable hours. 

He had been sorely mistaken. 

_“Louis, what the fuck. This guy murdered his wife to steal her money and wants to find her will to make sure he can keep it all. How did you not get that?_” 

That had rendered him shocked and silent. 

_“Seriously, bro. It took me three seconds to figure it out_.” 

Honestly, Zayn was just rubbing it in at that point and Louis had told him so. That’s when the conversation quickly devolved into an argument. Zayn told Louis to drop it and call the police. Louis had told him no, not when there were children involved that he could help, _especially_ if their step-dad was a _murderer_. 

From there it was just _Louis, you’re not a fucking crime-fighter. You don’t even like to leave the house. _and _I’m the boss, Zayn, you can’t tell me what to do_. and slammed doors as Zayn stormed out.

Which brings him here, all alone, feeling pathetic and lonely and drunk. 

_i’ll consider it if u come pick me up _he finally types_. _

It takes less than a minute for the _delivered_ to change to _read_. Louis watches the little bubbles pop up, indicating that, wherever he is, Harry’s attention is on Louis as he types his response. It feels nice. Then, as quickly as they appeared, they vanish. Louis doesn’t even have enough time to mourn the loss before his phone is vibrating with a call. 

“Hel_lo_?” Louis sings, dragging out the vowels. 

“Hi, Lou,” Harry greets. “Do you really need a ride?” 

“Mmm, yep. Sure do. Could do an Uber. I like your car better, though,” he tells him honestly, peering into his glass. The rolling of both his stomach and the room itself tells him that last sip is a bad idea. Louis takes it anyway. 

“Are you drunk?” Harry asks, but doesn’t give him enough time to actually answer before he continues. “Where are you?” 

“Remember the place Niall brought us to? When he was seeing that girl.” 

“Uhhh,” Harry hums doubtfully. 

“Remember, Liam spilled his drink everywhere and when the waitress came to clean it up, she gave you her number.” 

“Oh, _that_ place,” Harry says, recognition dawning. “Why’re you all the way over there?” 

“Don’t know,” Louis slurs. “Will you come get me?” 

Louis rests his head in his arms while he waits for Harry. He kind of has to pee, but Harry made him promise to stay put before he had to hang up for the GPS. It feels good to rest his eyes, but it’s a killer in the long run. Lifting his head back up when someone sits on the stool beside him sends his head spinning. 

Louis checks to make sure it’s Harry and then puts his head back in his hands. It’s Harry for sure, his big sunglasses pushed up into his curls despite it being so late. 

“Why’re you all alone?” Harry asks. 

Louis groans, throat burning, and then takes a deep, slow breath. He’s trying to keep everything he’s swallowed from coming back up again. “Zayn and I fought,” is what he manages. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, sounding sincere and lovely. “Are you ready to go home?” 

Louis thinks about standing. “In a minute.” 

Harry, bless him, gives him his time and then some. It isn’t until the bartender announces the last call that he asks again. 

Harry grabs his wrist and pulls his hand from his eyes- _Oh_, that’s why it was so dark in the room. The light makes everything worse, though. Everything extra Louis usually sees is swirling together in a colorful mess leaving him dizzy and confused. He squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the slow murmuring of Harry’s voice. The only thing he can concentrate on right now is his breathing. 

A while later, Louis realizes Harry is still holding his wrist. It makes him sad, and then angry, in a rapid succession. He snatches his hand back, but his movements are jerky and delayed and he feels himself teetering off of the stool he’s on. Harry grabs both wrists then, to keep him from falling over, which is nice because his brain certainly wasn’t going to get his limbs moving before he hit the ground. But it’s also annoying, because now Harry has _both_ wrists and Louis didn’t even want him holding _one_. 

He scoots forward until his toes can reach the ground, then stands. Once he’s steady, he yanks his hands back once again. “Don’t touch me,” he slurs, eyes mostly hooded. It’s still too colorful and bright. 

Harry sighs. “Louis,” he starts and waits. “Hey, look at me.” 

Louis shakes his head. “Everything,” he gestures around the air. “It’s a lot. Too much. Hurts my head. Too much to read right now.” 

Harry doesn’t answer immediately. 

“You don’t believe me, I know,” Louis snaps, feeling like they’re back to square one. “I don’t care. I want to go home. I want-,” 

Harry slides his sunglasses onto Louis’ face then, huffing when he has to try again to get the temple over his ear correctly. “Does that help?” he asks quietly. 

Nearly all of the fight drains out of Louis and he slumps forward, nodding into Harry’s chest. The truth is, Louis’ eyes are still pretty much all the way closed and even if they were open, he’s now hiding his face against Harry’s hard chest. So, the nod is kind of a lie in the sense that he doesn’t actually know if the sunglasses are helping. But the fact that Harry put his sunglasses on to try to ease his pain is helping enough that he doesn’t care. 

“Sometimes you’re so nice,” Louis tells him softly. He mostly just feels tired now. 

“I’m always nice,” Harry amends, resting a palm against Louis’ back gently. 

“Not to me,” Louis says. “You weren’t always.” 

Harry rubs his back for a little while longer before standing up as well and shifting him a little to the side so he can get them walking. He guides them through the bar and to the car, buckling Louis in after he ignores his first three demands to do so himself. 

He drifts in and out of consciousness on the way home, only fully opening his eyes again when Harry opens the passenger side door and lets in the breeze. “‘M cold,” Louis complains, curling his hands into little fists. 

“You’re always cold.” 

Louis lets himself be manhandled from the car and up the stairs, into his flat and then his room. Along the way he loses his shoes, finally pees, and drinks a glass of water. By then, he’s steady enough to make it to his bed on his own, collapsing face first and wiggling around until he’s under the covers. 

“Okay?” Harry asks quietly, sitting down on the bed beside his hip. 

“The universe told me that we…,” Louis breaks into a yawn. He’s not as drunk as he was an hour ago, definitely not drunk enough to blame the lapse in judgement that’s about to happen on the liquor. But, feeling sleepy and cushioned by whatever it is in the air telling him that this moment matters, makes his tongue looser than any shot could. “Told me that we were destined.” 

Harry doesn’t respond, but his face is scrunched in a way that tells Louis he wants to, he just doesn’t know how yet. Louis pounces on the opportunity to continue while his silence stretches, before he can speak and ruin this with his all too familiar disbelief and stubbornness. 

Louis pushes himself up on one elbow and stretches enough to just barely trace his fingertips over Harry’s jawline. Harry’s eyes drop to track his movements as he does it again. “D’you feel that?” he whispers. 

To him, it feels like all of the universe’s magic lives just beneath his skin when he touches Harry with intent. It feels like something special. Louis watches Harry’s lips part and wants to touch that too. He almost does, but then Harry shakes his head. “Feel what?” 

Louis curls his fingers back against his palm, but doesn’t drop his arm for another moment. “We’re going to know each other for a very long time. And I think I might die of exhaustion if we’re meant to fight this much.” 

He drops back down to lay flat again and pulls the blankets up over his chin. 

“Louis.” 

Louis yawns and rolls over. 

“Louis, fuck,” Harry grumbles, losing his cool for a second. He tugs the blanket down a few inches. “You can’t expect me to understand what you mean. I’m not, I don’t know what you’re… Louis. Help me understand what you’re saying.” 

There’s something in his voice that intrigues Louis into rolling over again. Harry sounds like he’s somewhat open to listening, open to trying to understand. Still, Louis feels like he’s going to pass out at any moment. “Sleep with me,” he slurs. 

For a scary moment, Louis thinks Harry is going to say no. The bed moves as Harry stands without a word and Louis holds his breath, listening for the footsteps carrying Harry back out to his car. But the only sounds are the rustling of clothes and thuds of his shoes being dropped to the ground. 

Louis’ asleep before Harry finishes settling in next to him. 

\---

For the first time in forever, Louis wakes up hot. It’s probably got something to do with the fact that he’s still dressed in what he wore out last night— sweater, jeans, even his socks. But the bigger culprit, Louis guesses, is sitting up in bed beside him. 

They’re not touching, but Louis’ close enough to Harry’s body to feel how warm he is. “How long have you been up?” Louis asks, voice thick with sleep. He rolls over on his side to face Harry, but closes his eyes so he doesn’t actually have to look at him. Seeing him sleepy in his bed while remembering his eloquence last night is bringing about a nauseating mix of longing and embarrassment.

Harry hums in thought. “An hour or so,” he says. “I got you water.”

“You didn’t have to stay.” Translation: I’d rather be left alone to wallow in my self-pity, please and thank you. 

“I don’t mind. I’ve just been thinking.” 

Louis turns his face further into his pillow. “That’s nice,” he says, voice muffled. He can’t really breathe like this, but he’s not that opposed to smothering himself at the moment so he doesn’t mind. 

“My sister texted me this morning.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m going to be an uncle.” 

“Congratulations,” Louis tells him flatly. 

“Louis. _Lou_. Look at me.” 

Louis considers all his options. Truthfully, he’s already pretty much laid it all on the line so it can’t get much worse. He might as well oblige. When Louis rolls over, Harry’s staring right at him, looking like a man on a mission. 

“What you were saying last night,” he starts, satisfied now that he has Louis’ full attention. “Did you mean all that?” 

“Mean what?” Louis drawls. 

He’s stalling and, if his frustrated sigh is anything to go by, Harry knows it too. “What did you mean when you asked me if I felt that? What did you feel?” he asks, seemingly switching tactics. 

“Full honesty?” More stalling. 

“Please.” 

Louis lets out a long breath and nods, staring at the ceiling. Then he pulls himself up to sit. His head aches a little with the movement, but it’s the kind of dull post-drinking pain that’ll be gone by the afternoon. He runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead, absolutely certain he looks a fluffy mess. And he meets Harry’s eyes. “In the spirit of full honesty, you should probably know that I’m in love with you.”

Harry sits up from the headboard, mouth open, but now that Louis’ finally put it out there, he finds he’s got a lot more to say. 

“Even though you were rude to me and told everybody in the world you thought I was a liar. I really didn’t have a choice in the matter, though. Can’t fight the universe, can I? Anyway, I-,” 

Many things happen, if not all at once, then in rapid succession. Harry pushes himself forward, grabbing Louis’ jaw with both hands, and attempts to kiss him. The rest of Louis’ words die in shock as Harry pulls him in too quickly at the wrong angle and ends up smashing their heads together. 

Both of them jerk apart, cursing and prodding at their newly sore spots. 

“That was the least smooth thing you’ve ever done, holy shit,” Louis whines, caught between groaning in pain and laughing. The laughter wins out, especially once Harry hides his face in his hands, muffling his own contagious giggling. 

“I’ve never done that before,” Harry tells him pitifully and peeks through his fingers. They’re bare in the morning, missing all of their usual rings. It’s a shockingly intimate sight. “I’ve completely ruined this, haven’t I?” 

Louis sucks in air through his teeth, nodding wistfully. “I’ve lost all interest.”

“Should I go?” Harry asks, hiking a thumb over his shoulder to gesture to the door and leaning up on his knees as if to stand. “I should go.” 

Committed to the bit, Louis waits until he’s almost out of bed to stop him. Then, he springs up to his knees like Harry and throws his arms around his neck. “You should stay,” he relents. 

On their knees like this, Louis is still frustratingly shorter, but he doesn’t have to wait long before Harry returns the embrace and bends his neck enough for them to meet in a much gentler kiss this time. His hands slide down Louis’ back, pulling to get him to arch his back and press their chests together. Louis lets himself be molded, entirely too overwhelmed by the slide of Harry’s tongue against his to care about much else. 

“That was better,” Harry presses the praise into Louis’ jawline, fingers inching their way to his waistline— god, why is he still wearing his jeans? 

Louis leans back, only succeeding in separating their shoulders due to Harry’s stronghold around his waist. “Why didn’t you take my jeans off last night?” 

Harry scoffs, brows drawing together in offense. “I’m a _gentleman_,” he squawks. 

Louis snorts, leaning back in to whisper in his ear, “I’m giving you permission now.” 

Harry makes quick work of laying Louis back across the bed. He pauses, smiles at Louis, and then grabs another pillow. “Here,” he murmurs, helping Louis lean up with one hand, “Lift up.” 

It’s quiet in the bedroom, save for the rustling blankets and their breathing. Louis leans back against his new pillow and curls his fingers together over his chest, waiting.

Harry stares at him, eyes dragging over the length of him and then back again, lingering on his face when he catches Louis’ soft smile. He seems to pause then, and reaches forward to run over Louis’ bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. 

Louis allows him to do it twice before his nips him with his teeth, laughing when Harry jerks his hand back. “Monster,” he says and thumbs over the hinge of his jaw instead, having learnt his lesson the first time. “I love you, too.” 

Louis’ lips part in shock. 

Harry curls his fingers around the back of Louis’ neck and leans down to kiss the surprise clean off his mouth. Louis can’t remember the last time he made out with someone like this, simply enjoying the kissing without scrambling to move on to the main act. The few recent hookups he’s had hadn’t exactly been conducive to it. 

They kiss and peel each other’s clothes off until they’re both naked and hard, and wanting so much. And then they kiss for a little bit longer, rolling their hips against one another. At one point, Louis pushes Harry until he’s on the side, raking his nails over the inked laurels on his stomach and tracing his fingers down the length of his cock until it becomes too much. 

When Harry sits up again, his lips are spit slick and swollen. “Look at you,” Harry drawls, dark eyes reverent as he spans his hand across the dip in Louis’ waist. “Unbelievable.”

“Get on with it,” Louis grumbles, only half joking. He’s passed the point of patience, unabashed in his hungry gaze on the cut of Harry’s hips and the dark hair that trails down from his stomach. 

“Don’t rush me,” Harry says with a pinch to Louis’ thigh, dipping forward to kiss his collarbone at the same time. “I’ve waited for this for too long to be rushed.”

Louis yelps, simultaneously twisting away from the pinch and pressing into the kiss. It’s enough squirming to buck Harry off of him and Louis pounces on the opportunity to roll over onto his belly. 

Harry doesn’t seem too upset. “Fuck me,” he groans, sitting back for a moment to just look. Louis feels the flushed all over, insides warm and soupy at being so openly admired. He shakes his hips a little, hiding his smile against his forearm. 

“There’s stuff in the bedside table,” Louis breathes, and then, because Harry doesn’t seem to take that as a cue to move, “_Please_.”

The ‘please’ seems to be the only thing successful in hurrying Harry along. Harry stretches to the side and pulls the drawer open with the hand that isn’t keeping him balanced. Louis gives a triumphant cry when a condom and the bottle of lube is dropped beside his head. 

Of course, Harry’s stint of productivity is short lived as he’s immediately distracted when he leans back over Louis. “So soft,” he says, laving kisses over Louis’ shoulder and down his spine. 

“Harry,” Louis huffs, kicking up a foot and giggling when Harry catches his ankle and doesn’t let it go. He tries kicking again, but Harry just holds it tighter, forcing it back down against the bed. 

“Brat,” Harry admonishes, fingers still wrapped around his ankle, but crouched over enough to graze his teeth over the side of his hip. “Just, let me...,” he trails off.

Louis turns his face into the pillowcase, keeping quiet for now. He can hear his pulse thrumming in his ears, picking up with anticipation as Harry finally gets a handful of his ass. “Fuck,” he says, spreading his cheeks, finally _finally_ bringing attention to where Louis wants it most. 

Harry grabs the lube and the condom from beside Louis’ head and then settles back on his heels so he can arrange Louis how he likes— legs spread to the point of obscenity, one knee pulled up to his side. The snick of the bottle cap is barely audible over his own heavy breathing. 

“Cold,” Louis jumps at the first touch of Harry’s wet fingers to his hole, body trying to get away.

“Sorry, baby,” Harry murmurs, sounding distracted and far away. “I’ll warm you up.”

Louis turns his head from the pillow to make sure Harry hears his groan loud and clear. “You do spout some shit when you’re about to get your dick wet, huh?”

Harry smacks his ass in retaliation, but laughs all the same. “You were being so sweet,” he says mournfully. He leans forward, elbow digging into the sheet beside Louis’ pillow, and threads his clean hand through the hair at the back of his head, turning his face enough to kiss the side of his mouth. 

Louis hums happily, reaching back to hold whatever part of Harry he can— his ribs in this case. “I’m always sweet,” he corrects when Harry sits up and returns to the task at hand. 

“Yeah, baby,” Harry agrees indulgently, fingers petting over his hole again before finally pushing one inside. “Always sweet for me. Even when you’re a brat.” 

Louis sighs, eyes closing in contentment as Harry fucks him thoroughly with his fingers. “‘S good,” Louis slurs.

“Yeah,” Harry hums, his familiar confidence back in full force. “I make you feel good?” he asks, but it’s barely a question so much as it’s a self-aggrandizing pat on the back. 

Louis’ about to fire something snippy back to take him down a peg, but Harry rubs two fingers over his prostate, chuckling smugly. All he’s able to get out is a moan. “Fuck me,” Louis pleads when he catches his breath. 

“I’m getting to it,” Harry promises, though he seems perfectly content with sticking to his fingers, adding a third as Louis whines. 

When Harry finally pushes in, he does so slowly, savoring every new inch, hand pressed into the mattress next to Louis’ head. “Good?” he asks, voice strained as he holds himself back from thrusting before Louis’ fully adjusted. 

“Mhmm,” Louis urges. “Fuck me.” 

It’s so hot, squished between Harry’s body and his mattress. There’s almost no room to breathe, but the pressure feels nice, like it’s keeping him grounded in the moment. “More,” Louis groans, rocking back into Harry’s hips. 

It’s a miracle when Harry listens and picks up the pace, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the room as he’s driving in to Louis. Louis’ spent months prior to this moment dreaming about what Harry would be like in bed. He was proud to know that he hadn’t been too far off with his assumptions-- strong, cocksure, and into his partner’s pleasure as much as he was after his own. 

Louis loses himself in the feeling, crying out openly and grinding back to meet whatever Harry gave him. He’s well on his way to an orgasm, which is why it’s so blindsiding when Harry pulls out and sits back on his knees. 

“C’mere,” Harry says, voice rough. He hooks his hands under Louis’ arms and pulls him back until he’s kneeling in front of him. Louis’ boneless and pliant and loose, but he manages to scoot back into Harry’s lap. With one hand around the base of his dick and the other guiding Louis by the hip, he pushes back inside. 

Louis bounces in his lap for a few moments with Harry’s help, but his movements die down to a frantic, shallow rocking once Harry wraps a big hand around his dick and starts jerking. His other hand rests against Louis’ throat, not applying any pressure, but just holding it there to keep him in place so he can mumble a mixed stream of filth and sweet nothings into his ear. 

After that, it doesn’t take Louis long to come, shuddering in Harry’s grip and crying out. 

For a minute, they sit there together as Harry waits for Louis comes back into himself, petting down his sides and over the tops of his thighs. Louis can hear every hitch of Harry’s breath as he clenches around him with his waning orgasm. His toes are numb from kneeling, his stomach’s sticky, and the hair beside his ear is wet with Louis’ spit, but he’s sated and has never been so in love. 

Harry eases Louis off of his lap and on to his hands and knees in front of him, swearing at the sight he’s presented with. Louis collapses forward onto his elbows, keeping his ass up for Harry to do with as he pleases. He listens as Harry pulls his condom off and sighs as he rubs the head of his dick over Louis’ hole a few times. 

Louis doesn’t last long, twisting around so he has a glimpse of Harry pulling at his dick, eyes dark and roaming from his ass up to his face, bottom lip caught tight between his teeth. It’s enough to make Louis’ groin give a dull, wanting ache. 

“Fuck,” Harry chokes, shaking as he finally comes across Louis’ ass. 

Louis graciously allows Harry another few seconds to finish before he lays down again, finally stretching his legs out flat. And if he weren’t already hopelessly in love with Harry, he would’ve surely fallen once Harry follows him down, drawing the comforter that’s slipped down to the foot of the bed up over his feet again. He’s too sticky to be snuggling into his blankets like he wants to, but with his feet covered and Harry’s arm thrown over his shoulders, it’s enough for the time being.

“I love you,” Louis says again, relishing in the fact that he can say it out loud. He feels settled in a way he hasn’t felt before, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be and Harry is exactly who he’s meant to be with. 

It feels even better when Harry says it back. “I love you.” 

“If you give me ten minutes, I’ll blow you in the shower,” Louis yawns. A shower sounds heavenly right about now, covered in cooling sweat, drying come, and Harry’s lube-tacky finger prints. A more realistic part of his brain is telling him that his tiny shower is too small for the both of them to have sex in, but post-sex Louis is optimistic about a lot of things in life. 

Harry looks ready to jump into action then and there, eyeing Louis’ mouth. 

“There’s a catch,” Louis adds after another thought. “You have to wash my hair for me.”

Harry nuzzles his nose into Louis’ neck, voice unbearably fond. “Mhmm. During?”

Louis laughs. If his eyes were open, he’d roll them. “Doesn’t have to be,” he clarifies. “Not going for an Olympic medal here or anything.”

Harry kisses his shoulder and sits up. “Drink the water I got you,” he tells him. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and start the shower.” 

Louis peeks an eye open just to watch him leave. Then he starfishes in the bed and moves as if he’s making a snow angel, trying to find his phone. It’s on the floor, Louis discovers after a minute, still plugged in to the charger from when Harry must’ve put it on the night before. The thought warms him.

_Not opening the shop today, am sick, cough cough :) _

_:(*_

_sorry btw about last night. i wont help gio anymore_

Louis doesn’t expect Zayn to text back for hours yet so he drops his phone back to it’s discarded place on the floor and shuffles out of bed to do as Harry says and drink his water. Down the hall, the pipes creak as the shower turns on. Eager, Louis chugs faster. 

\---

Louis wakes up from his nap alone in bed. It’s something he’d normally lament and will rightfully find time to do so later. First order of business, though, is to sort through the dream-vision he just had. It’s always easy to discern between a standard dream and one of his visions— the details of a vision stick around long after he wakes for one. 

Louis had seen Harry on the phone, visibly upset. He’d been calling the police. _My boyfriend_ is what he called Louis— the teensy tiny silver lining of it all,_ my boyfriend needs help_. Giodarno Corsolo’s address. Louis got the picture. 

He snuggles under his blankets for another moment, soaking in the bliss of a sleep warmed bed that still smells like Harry. It’s his to enjoy and commit to memory before he ventures out into whatever hellish adventure he’s supposed to get himself into soon. 

The door creaks as Harry pushes it open slowly, trying to keep silent for what he presumes is a still sleeping Louis. He flushes happily when he catches Louis’ eye and wastes no time crossing the room to sit on the bed beside him. It’s an image Louis’ dreamed about a hundred times before, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it. 

His stomach swoops in the best way as he lets himself be kissed thoroughly. Louis curls his fingers into the collar of Harry’s shirt and holds on. Harry’s hands find his waist under the blanket, trying to pull him closer against his body.

Louis hates himself for it, but he turns his head, breaking the kiss. It doesn’t do much to derail him. Harry’s lips follow the movement, trailing across his cheekbone instead. “Can you?” he murmurs into his skin, hands trying to simultaneously pull Louis closer and tear the blankets down to their feet once and for all. 

“Wait,” Louis breathes. “Hold on.” 

Harry sits up just a few inches, eyes dark and searching. For the first time, he notices the sweater Harry has on. They had stumbled from their morning shower, wet and naked and giddy, and had eaten breakfast in their underwear. Lunch had passed in a similar fashion, practically in each other’s laps to keep warm. After lunch, they had returned to bed, craving a good cuddle and taking advantage of the fact that they were allowed to touch in a way that hadn’t been allowed until that morning. 

Harry must’ve only pulled it on after Louis had fallen asleep again. It’s one of Louis’ baggier choices so it fits Harry well enough and it’s a sight that Louis would find _so_ endearing if it weren’t so dishearteningly familiar. 

It’s the same sweater Harry wears when he inevitably calls the cops. Which means Louis’ supposed to be at Mr. Corsolo’s house right now, giving him a reason to do so. 

Harry’s still watching him, waiting for an explanation or a go-ahead to roll them over for another round. Louis clams up, frowning. “I have to pee,” he squeaks, sliding out from underneath Harry until he rolls off the bed and onto the floor. “Be right back!” 

Locked away in the bathroom, Louis splashes water onto his face. It’s hard to switch gears so abruptly, especially when said gears are so wildly opposite-- from feeling loved up and sex-stupid to ready to confront a possible murderer. He eyes his reflection, lingering on the red marks Harry’s left at the junction of his neck and throat. That, at least, makes him smile. 

Harry’s sprawled across the bed when Louis comes back. He perks up, grinning happily when he spots Louis. It’s still incomprehensible how happy Harry looks to be here, in Louis’ bed, sharing his time with him. A month ago, this scene was nothing but a fantasy. 

“Coming back to bed?” Harry asks, opening his arms like he wants Louis to crawl into his lap. 

“I can’t,” Louis pouts, wrapping his arms around himself and holding his elbows. There’s literally nothing he’d rather do more. “I actually have to go,” he admits, pained. 

Harry sits up at that, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I thought you said you didn’t have anything today.” 

“I didn’t,” Louis agrees. “At least, I didn’t have anything to do when I said that. Something just came up. I need a favor, actually.” He watches Harry stand from the bed and suddenly needs something to busy himself with. Louis spins around, searching for his jeans to pull back on. Harry’s only in his briefs, standing tall and looking mussed, and it’s all Louis can do not to kiss him.

“Let me guess, you need a ride,” Harry laughs. “Did you only sleep with me because of my seat warmers?” 

Louis gives a faint chuckle, jumping around to pull his jeans up his legs. “I’m not going to lie and say they weren’t a part of the decision,” he jokes distractedly. “But, no. I actually just need you to call the police for me.” 

Harry’s laughter dies abruptly. “What?” 

“It’s no biggie,” Louis swears. He can’t find his other sock and has to pull one from another matched pair in his drawer. “You’re supposed to say that your boyfriend needs help and then you give them the address of that house we went to the party at.” 

“Whoa, slow down. _Supposed_ to?” Harry repeats incredulously. “What are you— did you see this happening already?” 

Louis does not slow down. He doesn’t even bend down to put his shoes on, just shoves his feet in and stomps around a bit until they’re secure enough for him to start walking. “Yeah. I have to go. Where are my keys?” he wonders, mostly talking to himself at this point. 

“Louis. Louis. _Louis_, stop,” Harry follows him out into the hall, voice urgent. “You can’t go.” 

Louis turns back at that, angry and jumping to the worst conclusion. “You still don’t believe me,” he accuses. 

“Oh, no, I do,” Harry says vehemently. “Louis, baby, I _do_. But I don’t _agree_ with it. You want me to stay home because that’s the way you saw it, so that’s the way it’s supposed to go, like we have no choice in the matter. We still have a choice.”

“Harry,” Louis tries to cut in, to no avail. 

“You can’t let what you see dictate how you live your life.” Harry’s holding him by his shoulders, eyes wide and imploring. 

That’s exactly how Louis lives his life. What he’s seen has never been wrong, but he’s also never challenged it like Harry’s begging him to. “I’m not letting you go alone.” His words are quieter now, but no less forceful. “How can you expect me to be okay with that?” 

Louis weighs his options. He doesn’t see a way out that doesn’t involve Harry following him over to the house, so he stops. “Okay,” he nods, moving into Harry’s chest. 

Harry’s hands slide down from his shoulders to rest over his back, one in between his shoulder blades and the other above his waist. Resting his head against Harry’s chest, Louis can feel the breath of relief he takes. “Okay,” Harry repeats cautiously, like he’s talking down someone poised to strike. “Okay, let’s just go back to bed. Please.” 

“Okay,” Louis tells Harry’s chest, nose squished into his own sweater. 

He waits another hour before he complains about how hungry he is and starts pouting about craving the pizza from the one place just far enough across town that they don’t deliver to the shop. Louis almost feels bad for lying, especially since Harry seems so eager to do something for Louis to make up for keeping him from going out. “Stay here, alright?” Harry tells him, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

“It’s warm here,” Louis says, turning enough to receive the next kiss on the lips. “I don’t want to leave.” Technically neither of those statements are lies and they seem to satisfy Harry. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises. 

Louis listens for the sound of the shop door’s bell and then waits another five minutes just to be safe. Then he springs into action. 

\---

Louis eyes the doorbell for half a second before making his decision. In true Harry fashion, he tries the front door and gasps when it opens. He still doesn’t know what he’s doing here at all, but he gets the idea that it’s not the sort of visit that warrants the doorbell. 

Louis creeps inside, leaving the door open a crack behind him, just in case he needs to run for his life later. The entrance is empty and lackluster without all of the partygoers to fill it. Like everything else concerning Mr. Corsolo, it’s very creepy. Fortunately, he barely has time to take a good look around before his feet are carrying him forward on their own accord. 

Some of the anxiety eases in his chest. Louis knows how to do this part, how to take a back seat to whatever needs to be done. Of course Louis’ scared and would rather be back home with Harry, but it is what it is. There’s a plan for everything. What will be, will be. 

It all happens quickly from there. He doesn’t stop until he’s in the doorway to the dining room, staring at the three occupants of the house having dinner. Mr. Corsolo sits at the head of the table and the two children, who Louis has only seen in portraits and dreams until this moment, sit as far away from him as they can. 

Nobody looks up to notice Louis for a moment, just long enough for Louis to see it— the will. He knows where the will is. 

“Mr. Tomlinson!” Giodarno exclaims, hastily jumping up from his seat in shock. “What do you think you’re doing here?” Louis can’t tear his eyes away from the children. They look sullen and sunken and it breaks his heart. “Mr. Tomlinson!” 

Louis glances back to Mr. Corsolo in time to see him moving towards him from around the table. “I- I know where it is,” he rushes out, backing up. He directs the next part to the children, “Your mother’s will. I know where it is.” 

“Don’t speak to them,” Giodarno demands. “We’ll continue in my office.” For every step he takes closer, Louis takes another one in the opposite direction. 

“No,” he shakes his head. It all finally makes sense, all the stilted visions and silence-- it had all been part of the plan. Louis can’t screw it up now.

Giodarno’s face twists into something angry as he catches on. “Louis,” he sneers. “I beseech you to reconsider.” 

“You and I both know I’m not going to tell you where it is,” Louis refuses. “And we both know why.” 

Seeing the color drain from the man’s face is a magnificent thing, Louis thinks. In his frenzied eyes, Louis can see the dawning realization that he’s been caught. Unfortunately, said realization only serves to make him reckless and Louis bolts for the doorway a split second before Giodarno makes his move for him. 

He runs faster than he’s ever ran in his life for seven long, neverending seconds before he turns a corner and collides with another body. Louis doesn’t even have to look at them first before he’s shuddering with relief. Harry did it. He called the cops. The police are here. 

\---

Harry’s there waiting for him when they finally release Louis from questioning. He looks thoroughly rattled and bone tired, but he hands Louis a tea and kisses the top of his head when Louis takes a hug instead. 

“I was right,” Louis tells him. “I had to go there. It took me so long to find it because it wasn’t meant to be found for him. As soon as I saw them, Harry. The kids. I swear, as soon as I was in the same room as them, I knew where it was. I had to see them first to find it. The universe wanted _them_ to find it, not him. She left it in a safety deposit box after she drew up divorce papers. She was _scared_, H, and she didn’t trust him at all.” 

“They’re alright now,” Harry soothes, rubbing his back. “You saved them, baby. You did it. I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

Louis closes his eyes. He did it. 

\---

_ **2 weeks later** _

“I’d like to make an announcement,” Liam takes advantage of the first lull in the conversation as everybody chews. He stands up, chair screeching across the floor behind him in his haste. He looks jittery and anxious, but ultimately very happy. 

Louis’ already smiling. He calls godparent. He’s not at all opposed to fighting dirty if anybody tries to take the title from him. 

The table is quiet now-- Liam has their rapt attention. Louis pats Harry’s knee under the table, winking at him when Harry looks over to smile. 

“Jenny and I, well, um, _really_, it’s just her. I don’t think I’m supposed to say _we_ anymore-,” Liam bumbles along until Jenny stands up beside him to help. 

“I’m pregnant.”

Naturally, the table erupts into a beautiful chaos of congratulations and celebrations. 

“_Wow_! I, for one, am _shocked_,” Louis lays it on thick. He’s going the whole nine yards— jaw dropped, wide eyed, hand to his chest. To both his dismay and amusement, everyone pauses their cheering to observe him, eyeing him with a range from suspicion to exasperation. Louis thinks it’s safe to say he convinced absolutely nobody with his display. 

The only one who doesn’t look at least mildly shocked or bothered by it is Zayn, who continues on eating while everyone around him continues on being _loud_. 

“How long have you known?” Jenny demands.

Louis’ face pinches up in mischievous happiness. “A couple of months,” he admits, giggling when everybody starts yelling again. 

“Bastard,” Liam accuses. 

“And you didn’t tell me!” Niall throws his arms up, outraged. 

“Hey, hey!” Louis shouts over the fray. “Wasn’t it better this way?” he asks Liam and Jenny, smiling knowingly when their eyes go soft and they share a chaste kiss. Louis didn’t expend all of his self-control over the last six months on not spoiling baby Payno for nothing, thank you very much. Obviously he knew the pay off was going to be worth it. 

“Yeah,” Liam agrees sappily. 

“You owe me the due date at least,” Jenny informs him. 

“That can be arranged. As a godparent, I’d be happy to help shed some light on the coming months,” Louis says genially. 

Niall pounds a fist on the table, plates and silverware clattering together at the impact. “Tommo, I’m not afraid to come to blows over this,” he warns, shaking a finger at him like the old, grumpy demon he truly is. “If anyone’s going to be the godfather, it’ll be me.”

Louis tilts his head, tutting condescendingly. “It’s cute that you think you have a chance. I’ve been preparing for baby Payno for _months_, Niall. You’re already behind.”

“Unfair advantage!” he yells, then turning to Harry, “Ref!” 

Harry holds his palms up in surrender, laughing. “I’m probably the least impartial person you could’ve picked at this dinner.”

Louis leans forward and slaps one of Harry’s hand in an impromptu high five. “Really, Niall. Out of everyone, you chose the one person whose dick I suck on the regular.”

“Ah!” Liam cuts in, yelling and holding his hands over Jenny’s stomach. “Little ears!”

“Don’t make Louis godfather,” Niall carries on. “He has a criminal record.” 

“I wasn’t arrested, Niall,” Louis tells him for the thirtieth time in two weeks, rolling his eyes because he doesn’t have to be a psychic to know it won’t be the last either. Niall’s still bitter about being the only one not to have had any idea about Louis’ recent accidental moonlighting as a criminal detective until all was said and done. This is just how he’s been lashing out. 

“There’s always next time,” Niall points out, to which he’s immediately shot down by multiple people. 

A simple, “No,” from Zayn. 

Harry shakes his head, “There better not be.” 

Louis feigns like he’s considering it for a moment, before laughing and also shaking his head. “Afraid not,” he says. “Once was enough for a lifetime.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of baby name suggestions from Harry, ideas about how to paint the nursery from Zayn, and hints about the exact due date from Louis. They laugh until they run out of wine and then chat some more until they’re all yawning and checking the time on their phones. 

Their goodbyes last longer than normal, all of them crowded around Liam and Jenny’s front door, doling out enough hugs to last until they see each other again. Tonight was their last dinner before the Christmas holiday. They’re all headed their separate ways, back to family and far away loved ones, and won’t reunite until New Year’s. 

Louis gets the worst of it-- squeezing hugs and cheek pats and kisses as everybody promises to celebrate his birthday with him when they’re all together again. Louis plays up his ambivalence to the extra affection, but they all know he’s like a sponge when it comes to this type of stuff, soaking it all in happily. 

“Do you have to be up early?” Harry asks when they’re finally shuffling down the hall towards the elevator. 

Louis does-- he’s promised his family that he’d arrive by lunchtime the next day and has a long drive ahead of him. He should really get to bed early tonight so as to save him a world of hurt and regret tomorrow. But with Harry smiling down at him, a special, secret glint in his eye, Louis can’t refuse whatever he has in mind. 

Harry drives them out of town, glancing over at Louis every few minutes in anticipation for something Louis hasn’t caught onto yet. “The _beach_?” he finally exclaims. “H, it’s _December_!” 

Louis’ protests obviously mean little to him, because he winks at Louis and parks the car. “C’mon,” Harry says. It’s a testament to how head over heels Louis is that he actually gets out of the car. 

“There’s nobody running into the water tonight,” Harry tells him as he grabs a blanket from his backseat. “But I figured we could still watch.” 

The night’s clear enough that the stars are out in full force, reflecting off the dark, rippling expanse of the ocean ahead. There’s not a single soul out besides them, leaving them to a peaceful world in which they can pretend they’re the sole inhabitants. 

Louis sits between Harry’s legs, leaning back against his chest, the heavy blanket wrapped around them both. With Harry’s arms resting over the tops of Louis’ bent knees and the blanket held securely in his fists, they form a comfy, misshapen fortress against the cold and watch from a safe distance as the waves roll over the rocky shore. 

“Remember when you asked if I felt anything when you touched me?” Harry asks, breath warming the side of his face. The feel of it sends a shiver down his spine and he presses subtly back, briefly attempting to break the boundaries of the material world and occupy the same space as Harry. 

“Mhmm,” Louis hums, unsure if he’ll be heard over the crashing waves and the salty ocean winds. Whether or not he is, Harry carries on anyway. 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he tells him, transferring the corners of the blanket from both hands to just one. “And I don’t know what it feels like for you.. I can’t imagine. The stars don’t speak to me like they do to you, Lou. I have to figure out things the old fashioned way.” 

Harry shifts his free arm to wrap around Louis’ shoulders, palm flat against the side of his neck, fingertips pressed into the soft skin beneath his ear. “But I know that when I touch you, it’s like holding starlight in my hands.” 

Louis turns his head to press the tip of his nose into Harry’s arm. It’s as close as he can get to a kiss without disrupting their little haven of warmth. “I’d have loved you without the universe telling me to. I loved you even when I thought it was telling me we were supposed to hate each other,” he confesses, breath catching in his throat. 

He hopes Harry can hear what he’s left unsaid. 

_I defied the universe to love you. You were more important to me than what was written in the stars. I’m so lucky I was wrong. _

Harry kisses over his cheekbone tenderly and holds him tight under the night sky. 

And for once, Louis doesn’t care if he never sees what happens next with him and Harry. He thinks he can handle this one on his own pretty well. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading all the way until the end!!! The bulk of this fic came together over a single weekend after a lot of writer's block so it feels good to have it finished, even if it's not as amazing as I wanted it to be. 
> 
> [here is the fic post on tumblr if you want to look at the photoset or reblog :) ](https://fackinglouis.tumblr.com/post/189900616609/fic-written-in-the-stars-thats-me-and-you)


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